Underneath the Stars
by arainymonday
Summary: Lord Elrond appointed intertwined tasks to the two youngest elves in Middle earth.
1. A Quest of One's Own

******Disclaimer: **I'm just playing in the Middle-earth sandbox. If you recognize it from elsewhere, I don't own it.

**Author's Note: **I wrote this story just five months after being introduced to LOTR. I followed canon as much as possible, but I didn't know all the facts then. Also, my OC is called Lothiriel, the same name as Prince Imrahil's daughter and Eomer's wife. She and I have discussed this, and I have promised to return her name unscathed at a later date. ;)

Thank you. Please enjoy this unabashed Legomance.

* * *

**Underneath the Stars**

**Prologue**

"**A Quest of One's Own"**

The hall was silent on this day. For twenty-four hours, all matters of state and governance had been forgotten as Gollum was tracked through Mirkwood. The trail had been muddled by the Orcs that had some part to play in the creature's escape, and eventually had been abandoned. The city was nearly empty now, save for the maidens and their few children. Every elf able to bear arms patrolled the forest and prepared for the inevitable future attacks. The bravest had been sent to Dol Guldur, or as close as they may come, to spy on the enemy. Among those elves was Thranduil's oldest son, Calendan.

Standing before Thranduil now were his two younger sons, waiting to hear their orders. Faelon, the middle son, was the best warrior in the entire woodland realm. He was a strong and solid Prince, though not fearless. Then, there was Legolas. He was a true wood-elf in demeanor and thought, which also meant he was a terrible leader. His spirit belonged to the whispering trees and daydreams. Thranduil barely trusted him with a regiment of elves, let alone the monumental task he was about to assign.

He looked to his wife, who sat at his side. Before Oropher entered Greenwood the Great, it was Adonniel's father who ruled the scattered wood-elves. Like most Queens, she guided her husband's decisions with gentle words of wisdoms. She nodded encouragement to her husband, but said nothing.

"Mithrandir must know that Gollum has escaped. The problem lies therein, the Gray wizard is not found; he appears. Yet, he thinks Gollum is safely hidden in my halls, so he will not return until many of his other tasks are complete. I fear that this creature's escape has ill effects that spread beyond his own corruption.

"I am sending Legolas as a messenger to Imladris, to Lord Elrond. If Mithrandir is still not to be found, then Lord Elrond will know what is to be done."

Faelon out cried, before he had time to judge his words. "Father! You cannot be serious! You wish to entangle us in the affairs of High-elves! That is why grandfather left Doriath! It is bad enough that you accept Mithrandir into our realm. Next, you'll send us to Lothlórien to rekindle friendship with the elf-witch! Then, you'll be telling us we should sail West with the Noldor to live among the Valar!"

Thranduil held up his hand, "Peace, son. You do not know the reasons for the sundering of the Sindar, nor do you know Galadriel. And do as you're told. You are not the King of this realm, you will follow my command."

Faelon bowed tensely, "Yes, father."

Thranduil then turned to his youngest son, "And what say you, Legolas?"

"If you wish me to go to Imladris, I will go."

There was something kindled in Legolas's eyes that startled Thranduil. His son was not accepting out of obedience. His son wanted to explore the world beyond the borders of Mirkwood. He wanted to see the Noldor and the Dúnedain. It was very likely that he even wished to see Lórien.

For many years a shadow had laid on Thranduil's mind. When he returned to Mirkwood after the Last Alliance with only one-third of his soldiers, his world had changed forever. Now, as he looked into Legolas's eyes, he sighed sadly as a second shadow consumed him.

His youngest son no longer belonged to the forest. The sea would soon call his heart.

* * *

The sun shone brightly, but the world was dark.

The Bruinen and its waterfalls roared in the distance, but there was no other sound in Rivendell. No birds dared flight with the black terror lingering. No creature stirred in the treetops or ground burrow. The world was waiting with held breath while the unseen dread lie over the refuge of Imladris. The Nazgûl had been driven off the bridge three days before, but they still patrolled the road. They were waiting for the Ring-bearer.

This day, the twentieth of October, Lothiriel was drawn to the gates of Imladris. The sense of doom had grown to its climax. She feared for Glorfindel, the Ring-bearer, and the future. For a fleeting moment, she wished she had left Middle-earth to its doom and sailed to Valinor long ago, but she recanted quickly. As long as there was war, there was need of healing, and she was one of the most skilled in this art.

Beside her was Elrond. He felt doom smothering the valley more than any other. Glorfindel was in great danger. It penetrated his skin and invaded his mind. His closest friend would be tested this day, but he could not see if he would prevail. Mithrandir stood behind them, leaning on his staff. His eyes were closed, as if he was searching for a thought buried deep in his memory. The elves and wizard waited tensely for any sign of what the future may hold.

For years beyond count, Lothiriel had run the Houses of Healing in Imladris. For unknown reasons to all but Elrond, he had personally instructed her in the art of healing. Even before Gandalf the Gray had arrived in Imladris with news that the Ring-bearer was coming, she had felt a foreboding. She had sterilized the silver surgical tools, organized the anesthetics, and cut herbs, which she placed in water to keep fresh. She had folded down all the beds for patients, set up privacy screens, and prepared a surgical area. Little did she know that the very night a foreboding set upon her, Frodo Baggins received the wound she prepared to cure.

Elrond took a step forward and stared hard at the gates of Imladris. There was nothing to be seen, even with elven-sight, but the Lord of Imladris did not need vision to see. Within moments, a white horse charged through the entrance, carrying on his back a small mortal Lothiriel knew to be a halfling.

"Asfaloth!" Lothiriel cried, running to the horse and rider.

The halfling in the saddle looked at her with large, bright eyes glazed in pain. His left arm hung limply at his side, and Lothiriel knew at once that his wound was beyond her experience to heal. About him was terrible power and doom. And then she knew.

"You are the Ring-bearer," she said, in awe.

The halfling nodded once, before falling from the saddle into Lothiriel's arms. Elrond took a step backwards as this happened. He felt a wind blowing through his mind, and an image appeared to him. Lothiriel's fate was tied to the fate of Frodo Baggins and the doom that hung around his neck.


	2. When All Things Begin

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter One**

**"When All Things Begin" **

It took hours beyond count and skill of great renown to cure the halfling. Finally, the shard of the Morgul-blade was removed, and the hobbit lay sleeping in one of the many guest rooms in the Last Homely House.

"I put him in your charge, Lothiriel, and none other. He needs much rest and comfort," said Elrond, "I must go now and speak with Mithrandir about many things."

There were messengers from all over Middle-earth coming to Rivendell with various tidings of ill news. The finding of the Ring was only the first in a list of evils. Dwarves from the Lonely Mountain, the Bardings, and Beornings had all sent messengers. Erestor predicted that more messengers would arrive before the Council was held. Elrond had much on his mind. Lothiriel would not bother him with caring for the ill.

Lothiriel peered into the room before entering. Sam was sitting on a cushioned footrest, though it was the perfect size for Sam to use as a stool. His torso was lying across the bed, and his arm was stretched out to hold Frodo's hand while he slept. He was asleep from what Lothiriel could tell, so she moved with extra care.

She leaned over Frodo, and placed one hand on his forehead. Her eyes slipped closed as she searched for Frodo's spirit. It recovered still, as the hobbit's physical body did, but it was strong and resilient. When Lothiriel opened her eyes, Sam was staring at her curiously.

"Elvish medicine," she said, smiling gently.

Sam's eyes lit up. His fascination with elves had grown since coming to Rivendell. He saw the gentle power of Lothiriel's healing touch and the power of Glorfindel to fight off Nazgûl as "magic." He asked repeatedly for Lothiriel to tell him how she knew Frodo was getting better by touching his forehead, but Lothiriel could not explain it.

"What is that?" the hobbit asked.

Lothiriel held out a sprig to the gardener. "We call this Gwaeron because that is the month it begins to grow."

Sam nodded, "Clover is what we call it in the Shire. The hobbit-children collect it and put it under their pillows for good luck."

"You're not far off," the healer answered. She crushed the sprig and dropped it into hot water. "It numbs pain and wards off nightmares."

Sam studied Lothiriel in silence. She let the clover tea cool while she changed the bandage on Frodo's shoulder. The wound had closed cleanly and was not as purple or swollen as it had been. She spread a thick salve over the place where the Morgul-blade had entered before securing fresh cloth over the wound.

"That is used to keep infection out. I do not know if Morgul-blades cause infection, but it is better to take precaution."

Sam nodded vigorously, "Yes, m'Lady, it is definitely better. I wonder, though, Lady Lothiriel. Will Mr. Frodo get better? I mean, will he be back to normal?"

Lothiriel was hesitant to answer. "Oh, Sam, I cannot answer that question. I did not know Frodo before he left the Shire nor do I even know him now. That is a question you are best fit to answer."

The hobbit dropped his eyes, "I guess I knew that. I was just hopin', you know, that maybe you had some elvish magic to … Well, to …"

"Make everything all right?" Lothiriel asked, gently. "No, Sam, I don't."

The routine continued for four days. Lothiriel cleansed Frodo's wound and bandaged it with fresh cloth three times a day. She massaged his muscles to keep them from cramping and poured little bits of tea down his throat. All of this was done under the watchful eye of Samwise Gamgee, who was most satisfied with Lothiriel's work after the first day.

Bilbo was often seated beside Frodo, writing in his red journal, but he was also away a lot. Many of his friends were gathered in Rivendell, and he wanted to see them. Glóin, who he traveled with on his adventure to slay Smaug, and his son Gimli, were there from the Lonely Mountain. A kinsman of Beorn, Aragorn, and Mithrandir were all together in the same place. So, it happened that when Frodo began waking, Bilbo was off talking to his old friends.

"I will go find Sam and Bilbo at once," Lothiriel said.

She found Sam quickly, as he was never far away, and sent him to Frodo's room. Bilbo, however, was harder to find. He was not in his room or in the library. When finally she heard elvish spoken in a hobbit-accent, Lothiriel found Bilbo seated in the garden, talking with Lord Glorfindel. From the bit of their conversation that she heard, Lothiriel gathered Bilbo was trying to take copious notes about the Elven-lord's journey to find Aragorn and the hobbits.

"Excuse me, Bilbo, I do not mean to interrupt, but your cousin is waking and quite quickly. I was sent to find you, but that has been some time ago. You hobbits really hide yourselves well."

"Lothiriel! Yes, yes," said Bilbo, "It is a hobbit gift. But, now, Frodo is waking and I must go to him! We will speak more later, Glorfindel."

Being that Bilbo was very old, he was struggling to right himself. The elf helped him to stand, and then the hobbit was running off towards Frodo's room as quickly as an old hobbit could. Glorfindel and Lothiriel laughed as the hobbit scurried off.

"Lothiriel?" a voice belonging to Samwise called.

"Excuse me, Lord Glorfindel, I would not want to neglect Frodo when Sam is around to notice it."

* * *

The Company of wood-elves crossed the Ford of Bruinen single-file. Leading the party was Belethuil, the herald, and he carried the standard of Mirkwood. Prince Legolas rode behind the flag, followed by four warriors. Orion and Thorohir were the scouts, and they rode just behind their Prince. Eight was an extraordinarily large number of elves to accompany a messenger, but Mirkwood and the High Pass through the Misty Mountains were too dangerous to send fewer.

The valley of Imladris surrounded and amazed the wood-elves. Few of them had ever seen this place. The valley formed a V, and nestled in between the sheer cliff faces was Rivendell, the city of Elrond. The homes of the elves were completely hidden between the trees. The only evidence that they were in the right place was the bridge they crossed.

Out of the forest, a wooden arch with no doors appeared. From the gate onwards, a cobblestone path curved around trees. From nowhere, a vast courtyard appeared. Built all around the square garden were intricate and beautiful homes. Some were built with giant tree trunks in the center and branches through the roofs. Others were settled in natural clearings in the wood. The largest of the houses was set on the Eastern side of the courtyard. The Last Homely House was the home of Lord Elrond and the center of life in Rivendell.

From the house, an elf appeared. He was tall and proud, with black hair and light green eyes. He did not smile, but his eyes were warm. The wood-elves dismounted as he approached. Their horses were immediately led away by stable wardens.

"Welcome, friends of Mirkwood. I am Lord Erestor, and I welcome you on behalf of all residents of Imladris. Rooms have been prepared for you in the Last Homely House so that you may rest after your long journey."

He turned and began walking up the steps into the open corridor. He led them swiftly past many doors lining both sides of the main corridor. A few times, he pointed out common rooms they could use; the dining hall, Hall of Fire, Houses of Healing, and the library.

"Here are your rooms," he said. Erestor motioned to a corridor with two doors on either side of the hallway. "If you need anything, you may ask any one of the servants. The evening meal is served in an hour, and it is held in honor of Frodo Baggins."

"Baggins?" Thorohir asked, "As is Bilbo Baggins?"

"Yes," the Lord replied, "Frodo is Bilbo's cousin."

The scout chuckled, "My father never recovered from the embarrassment of having his keys stolen from his very belt."

"You should tease Mr. Baggins with that bit of information," Erestor said, "He should be at dinner tonight."

The wood-elves seemed very happy to hear that Bilbo was in Imladris. Only Belethuil refrained from asking the Lord questions. Finally, Erestor said he must be off to prepare himself for the evening meal. Legolas watched the Lord leave with wonder in his eyes. He did not have much interaction with the High-elves, but he thought his brother may be wrong. Erestor seemed very friendly, like there were no ill-feelings between their people at all.

"Let us make ready for dinner," Belethuil said, "But remember our elvish history; these elves are Exiles and kin slayers."

Belethuil's words did not go unheeded by the wood-elves. As they washed and dressed for the evening meal, they reminded themselves of what they had been told their whole lives. The affairs of High-elves lead only to destruction.

"Tonight, we will sit at the table of nobles," Belethuil explained. He was the oldest elf in the messenger party, Thranduil's advisor, and Legolas's second in the regiment. "Remember, you are a Sindarin Prince. Do not let these High-elves make you feel like less. If they try to demean your presence, and I'm sure they will, you must still behave like a Sindarin Prince."

Legolas nodded, somewhat confused, "I will, Belethuil. Though, if all the elves of Imladris are as kind as Lord Erestor, I do not think we will have many problems."

The elder elf laughed softly, "Oh, my Prince. If they do not kill us with swords, they will kill us with kindness."

The feast held in honor of Frodo Baggins's waking was unlike any other held in Imladris. Hobbits of the Shire were not accustomed to sitting in places of honor at an Elven-lord's table. Frodo was no exception, though he was a very well to do hobbit. The pain in his shoulder had not disappeared, but he did not have the heart to mention it when so much trouble had gone into this meal.

Often, there were races mingled for Elrond welcomed all into his haven. On any given day, one could see a Dúnedain and a dwarf together or Bilbo lecturing a young elf on hobbit-sense. This day, however, was beyond recall. Free peoples from across Middle-earth were gathered, all seeking the council of Lord Elrond.

It was Legolas's first time to Imladris, and he was a bit overwhelmed. Never had he been in such a variety of company. To his right sat Belethuil, who was a Lord of Mirkwood. To his left were noble elves of Imladris. Mirkwood was not a place to welcome visitors, especially not of such a variety. There were, occasionally, elves from Imladris who delivered messages. Only once had the Dúnedain entered the forest, and then only by the courage of Aragorn did they dare. But, Imladris was such a place, and Legolas felt glad that it was so. Evil days lie upon Middle-earth, yet they did not touch Rivendell … not yet.

Belethuil nudged his Captain gently. He said discretely, "Look to your right."

To Legolas's right, upon a dais, was the table where Lord Elrond sat. Clearly, Belethuil intended to identify the Lord of Imladris, but two others caught the younger elf's attention. In the center of that table, seated under a canopy, were two elf-maidens. The elleth on the left seemed bright and energetic to the eye with her golden hair and warm smile as she spoke. The second elleth, however, was dark and serene in appearance, much the opposite of the first. Legolas saw no other maidens sitting at any tables of nobles. He wondered at that for few elves in Mirkwood were unmarried.

The elf seated next to Legolas introduced himself as Lord Elmhir. He noticed the wood-elf looking at the ladies, and took it upon himself to explain who they were.

"They are Arwen Evenstar and Lothiriel Morning-Flower. Lady Arwen is the daughter of Lord Elrond. She is the most beautiful elleth of our time," the elf smiled, as if he were very proud of this fact.

"And what of Lady Lothiriel?" Belethuil asked.

"She is from Mithlond, a Teleri sea-elf. Tonight, in the Hall of Fire, you will know her song when she sings for the Teleri carry the melody of the sea in their voices and are the finest singers among elven-kind. Lady Lothiriel is a healer, taught by Lord Elrond. Bilbo has known her for many years. They met when he and dwarves were on their way to the Lonely Mountain. He asked that she care for his cousin Frodo."

Lothiriel turned to look at the wood-elves, as if she sensed they were talking about her. Lady Arwen quickly drew her attention away. She nodded, and a moment later the two Ladies excused themselves from the dais. They exited the dining hall and were not seen again that night.

Elrond invited his guests to join him in the in the Hall of Fire, adjacent to the banquet hall. The elves of Imladris began a song in Sindarin as they led the visitors across the corridor into a large room with an open ceiling.

A large group had gathered in the Hall within minutes. Only the servants remained in the dining hall to clean up, but soon they would join the festivities. In one corner, Frodo was speaking to Bilbo and in another corner two dwarves were conversing with a group of Dúnedain. Seated near the fire were five ellyth, singing an old song in Quenya. Lady Arwen and Lady Lothiriel were mysteriously absent, but the other ellyth entertained with their melodic voices.

"This is very different from Mirkwood," Mithrandir said, sitting next to Legolas, "Though, I cannot say I dislike either place."

"No, I could not say that at all. I have always enjoyed traveling to Imladris," Legolas agreed, "I prefer these open halls and whispering trees to the dark forest and caverns of Mirkwood."

"You feel more at home here? Do not worry, I will not tell your father."

Legolas smiled, but it did not reach his eyes, "I feel very much at home in this valley."

"That is good."

"Why do you say so? I am a Prince, I am supposed to love my home more than any other land."

Mithrandir took a puff from his pipe, then said, "I thought when last I left Mirkwood that you and I would be spending a lot of time together. You have other paths to take than your brothers, I thought, and do now more than before. Calendan will never leave Mirkwood for he is too intent on being the crowned prince. Faelon despises anything that is not silvan. But, you, Legolas, may see the world yet, as you have always longed to do. Being the youngest son is not always a curse."

Something about Mithrandir's words rang true to him. He also did not think he would return home soon, but he was not sure that was the best road. His realm would need him to defend their lands, and yet again, he would be unable to prove himself.

"Let us not think of this tonight," Mithrandir said, lifting his voice to a merrier tone, "We have a long Council ahead of us tomorrow. For now, relax and listen to the beautiful maidens sing."

After their song was complete, another chorus began from a different part of the room. The music ending and beginning blended together seamlessly, creating a new harmony. The mortals in the hall who were not used to the melodies of the elves began to grow sleepy as the voices of the elves grew soft and ethereal. But the elves needed little sleep and continued singing long into the night.

* * *

Gandalf's prediction that the Council would be long was accurate. Half a day had already passed, but not half of the members of the council had told the news they were sent to deliver. The elves did not mind discussing current events for a day. If the men or dwarves did, they did not show it. For Bilbo, this was very frustrating. A hobbit could not think easily on an empty stomach, and he had missed second breakfast, elvenses, and lunch.

The collection of men, elves, dwarves, hobbits, and a wizard met in secret, though all in Rivendell would know their decision soon. From their spot in the cool grass under the shade of the trees, Lothiriel and Arwen could see the Council, but hear nothing.

Arwen laid on her back, sometimes looking up at the clouds passing overhead, other times turning her eyes to the Council. There was sadness in the blue depths of her eyes, but hope also, and much love. Lothiriel watched Aragorn stand and speak. Though she did not know what he said, she saw the kingly quality in his manner, no matter how reluctant he was to acknowledge it. Lothiriel had known Estel for many years before Arwen had given her heart to the man. She had tended his scrapped knees and plucked out splinters from his fingers when he was still a small child.

"He goes to restore a kingdom," Lothiriel said, quietly, "for you and none other. Even if he does not live to see the world renewed, he would die to save it for you."

A bittersweet smile came to Arwen's lips, "I have sewn his standard. I would not have done so if I did not think it would fly before his army."

Lothiriel said quietly, with tears in her eyes. "It shall not be easy for us without you."

Arwen wrapped her arms around her friend. "I can say the same, Lothiriel, for you will leave these shores soon."

The ellyth grew silent. Neither wished to discuss the inevitable parting that would soon come between them. They had lived much of their lives side-by-side. They had traveled through the elven realms of Mithlond and Lothlórien untold times in their years together, and shared countless immortal memories. Soon, that would end.

"I will remain, Arwen, for as long as I may. I will fight the sea-longing until your mortal years are ended, and there is truly nothing left in this world for an elf," Lothiriel promised.

"Many things will be lost to me if I am made Queen of Gondor, but I would cling to all that I may. I will hold you to your promise, Lothiriel."

* * *

Doom had passed for a day. The Ring-bearer had awakened and a feast had been held in his honor. But another day had passed since. Elrond had held his council and evil news from across Middle-earth had been shared. Saruman betrayed his duty, Gollum had escaped, and the men of Gondor were eager to claim the Ring. The enemy's Eye beat on Rivendell like the blazing sun and all felt its malice.

These thoughts and more consumed Legolas's mind. The glade he walked in was still clinging to the last flowers of the season, but the trees had begun to lose their leaves. Autumn was coming to Rivendell and to the elves.

"Do you wish to sing with me?"

Legolas turned towards the voice. Lothiriel stood behind him, glowing amid the dim trees. Perched on her finger was a small bluebird and he chirped a response to her question. She was dressed in green that matched her eyes, but the leaves of the trees were orange. He imagined her in summer, standing in the same place, and she looked very much like a wood-elf to him then.

She turned her eyes from the bird to Legolas, but only smiled softly at him. It was Legolas who found himself stepping forward and speaking. As her attention strayed too long from the bluebird, it flew away to join its own kind in their continuing song.

"_Mae govannen_. I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

"I am Lothiriel, from Imladris," she teased, smiling.

He furrowed his brow at her response, "I thought you were from Mithlond."

Legolas quickly realized his error in allowing her to know he had asked about her. He lowered his eyes as his cheeks turned pink. Lothiriel only laughed and held out her hand to him.

"Walk with me beneath the trees, Legolas."

He extended his hand to her, and she placed her hand in the crook of his arm.

"Do you enjoy Imladris?"

"I do, very much. I wonder, Lady, are your skills ever required in such a serene haven? If I were a healer, I would grow very bored here."

Legolas cringed again. As Lothiriel had not offered this information to him, she knew this wood-elf must have asked quite a few questions about her. She said nothing about it, however.

"Yes, my skills are needed, but often I leave Rivendell to use them. I ride north, to the settlements of the Dúnedain to heal what the skill of the Rangers cannot or to birth their children, which men are loathe to do."

She laughed happily, as if some old memory long forgotten had just come back to her. Perhaps it was the sound of her laughter or the smell of athelas lifting his heart, but Legolas was inspired to sing.

Lothiriel listened with rapt attention to his song. It was so different from Teleri songs about the sea or Noldor songs of history. She did not understand the language, which was obviously Silvan, but she imagined it was a song about frolicking among the trees when Mirkwood was still called Greenwood the Great. The melody was joyous and lively, probably accompanied by a merry dance. Indeed, Legolas had a hard time not dancing while he sang.

"That was wonderful! Teach it to me!" Lothiriel laughed.

She learned quickly for even the pronunciation of a language never heard before came easy to elves. Legolas listened in awe as she sang the simple song from Mirkwood. It was true what the elf in the dining hall had said. Her Teleri voice was melodic and beautiful as chiming bells, but there was an undertone of something haunting Legolas had never heard. It sounded like lapping water and roaring winds, combined together in a never-ending song.

"Lothiriel!" a distant voice called.

"That would be Samwise," the sea-elf smiled. She released Legolas's arm and began to walk towards the Last Homely House. "I have neglected to inspect Frodo's wound for too long."

"Perhaps we will walk in the forest again."

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Perhaps. My duties are in the Houses of Healing during the day, but perhaps another night we will meet under the trees."


	3. Walks in the Wood

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Two**

"**Walks in the Wood"**

The moon had passed from waxing to new, and every night Legolas and Lothiriel met by one of the Bruinen's many tributaries. This night, Legolas sat against a tree trunk, waiting patiently. Lothiriel was late, but that was not uncommon for her duty as healer often kept her. Far away, the lights in the Last Homely House flickered, but that was the only light to be seen. Beside the elf, a row of tulips stood, but their petals were tightly shut. Nothing stirred around him, not even the trees gossiped.

He had grown accustomed to the forest falling silent. It was a strange nuance that did not occur in Mirkwood, but the trees in Imladris did not need to stay alert for danger. They were protected and loved in this haven. Slowly, a whisper rippled through the forest. Legolas smiled widely. He loved listening to the trees welcome an elf they loved. Through the blackness of the night, a dim light began to glow. The flowers beside Legolas loosened their petals and came to full bloom when Lothiriel stepped into the glade.

"The forest always wakes for you," he said, not turning to Lothiriel, "yet I am the wood-elf."

The forest floor was covered with orange leaves, and the branches of the beech trees were naked. The stars shone brightly in the crisp autumn sky without a single cloud to obscure their beauty. The two elves made no noise as they walked over the leaves, and they spoke quietly. It seemed wrong to disturb nature while it rested.

"They are not sure about you. You carry understanding of trees that are different from them. Perhaps the sea would speak to you in a way it no longer does to me."

"I have never seen the sea. What does it look like?"

Lothiriel sighed, "It looks like home."

"Then I believe, home looks different to you and I," Legolas laughed, "because my home looks like stone."

Lothiriel creased her brow, "You think of stone when you think of Valinor?"

"Well, no … I was thinking of Mirkwood."

"Legolas, may I ask you a question? You do not have to answer if you do not wish."

"Then, of course," he laughed.

"When I am in Mithlond for a lengthy time, I see many different kinds of elves passing through the harbor. Yet, I have never seen a wood-elf there."

"There is a very good reason for that. Wood-elves do not sail to Valinor."

Lothiriel nearly gasped at this information. She had expected him to admit they used some other passage to the sea. She was clearly troubled by his answer. "Why do your people do not accept the grace of the Valar?"

Legolas hesitated for a moment. "I will tell you what I have always been told, though I doubt this reasoning now that I have stayed here in Imladris. The wood-elves do not mingle in the affairs of High-elves and the Valar. My grandfather thought it was wrong to marry men and Maia. He wished to remove himself from the wars of Beleriand and live again in harmony with nature."

The elleth was very sad when she spoke again. "Then what is your fate? To where do you go when this world becomes tiresome?"

Legolas furrowed his brow, "What do you mean? We cannot leave this world. We are bound to it. It is the curse of immortality to continue through life until the End of Days no matter the sorrow or pain that we endure."

The sea-elf was staring at him wide-eyed. She could not image staying in Middle-earth for eternity. She did not yet feel the weight of her years, but she was still young by the standards of the elves. She understood the words of Galadriel now. Those elves who did not depart Middle-earth were doomed to fade into the myth of men. Those elves would slowly lose the will to live as the world changed and the trees forgot them. In doing so, only then could they come to Valinor; into the Halls of Mandos.

Lothiriel could not image a greater grief than to be cursed to this fate. To never see the Bay of Eldamar was unthinkable to a Teleri. It was the true home of all sea-elves. But Legolas, Lothiriel's new friend, was doomed to fade into legend.

Lothiriel thought for a moment before speaking. When she did, there were tears in her eyes.

"I am glad to hear that you doubt that."

No matter the conversation, always they would end their night at the Last Homely House and Legolas would say:

"I shall see you at breakfast, Lady Lothiriel."

Lothiriel entered the hallway. Candlesticks burned dimly, casting vague shadows on the floor. She walked on with ease, having memorized every step to her room.

"I came to bid you good-night," Elrond said.

Lothiriel turned to see the Elven-lord appearing from the shadows. He had been absent since the Council meeting, shut up in his library with Mithrandir. They were discussing who should be in the Fellowship to help Frodo destroy the Ring. Mostly, Lothiriel had been left to manage the Houses of Healing. Only at night did she neglect her duty to meet with Legolas.

"I thank you for welcoming Legolas without reserve. You heal more than physical wounds, Lothiriel. For once, the elders respect the faith of the young."

"I like him very much."

Elrond laughed softly, "I am glad you do."

Lothiriel cocked her head to the side, "I feel a reproach coming on."

The Lord shook his head, "Not a reproach. A word of caution perhaps, the same word that I give Arwen. You deserve no less than love and happiness, be careful that you do not loose either of those by your own doing."

The elleth's confusion was in her eyes. "That is curious advice, my Lord. I have made friends with men and hobbits, yet you never counseled me then. I have come to understand the doom of the wood-elves, but the fate of men and hobbits is not so different. My friends will be lost to me one way or another."

The Elven-lord studied her for a moment before speaking. "You are close to understanding my meaning. My words are not clear now, but do not forget them. Goodnight, Amrûniel."

* * *

"Should you not be sitting on your dais, my Lady?" Legolas teased.

Lothiriel frowned at him and refused to reply to his bantering. Since the Council was held, life in Imladris had become rather chaotic. Elrond and Mithrandir were cloistered away in the study of the Last Homely House, the sons of Elrond were away in the North, and Arwen was occupied with spending as much time with Aragorn as possible. That left the governing of Rivendell up to Glorfindel and the Houses of Healing to Lothiriel, neither had ever done their duties alone. Also, the coming and going of individuals, scouting parties, and whole regiments was at its peak. No one was ever sure who would be in the valley or when.

On this particular day, only half the city's population was at the evening meal. Arwen was nowhere to be seen and Lothiriel refused to sit on the dais alone. She decided instead to sit with Legolas, Orion, and Thorohir-the latter two were lulled into silence by her presence. The Dúnedain sat across the room, discussing plans for another scouting expedition between (or during) mouthfuls of food.

"Are you attempting to ask me to leave, Legolas?"

Orion and Thorohir started at such an informal address being given to their Prince. They did not know Legolas had failed to mention his title to her (though Elrond had not). In fact, he had told only Aragorn, Mithrandir and Elrond that he was a Prince.

"Of course not. It would be daft to ask such a beautiful Lady to leave."

Lothiriel rolled her eyes playfully. She was about to reply when an uproar of noise drew everyone's attention from his or her meal. The cacophony of sound was unmistakable; the Bruinen had again risen in anger. The city could not be besieged, the river was its defense, but retreating enemies could be, and would be, slaughtered. The warrior elves of Rivendell were joined at the riverbank by the Dúnedain and three wood-elves, their meals abandoned.

From a distance, all with elven-hearing could hear the sound of clashing metal. The Bruinen had calmed as elven and Númenórean feet had touched its waters, but it was still murmuring angrily at being tainted by Orc feet. The healers were already in action when Lothiriel reached the Houses of Healing. All had heard about Frodo and the Morgul-blade. The fear of the Nazgûl still lingered.

But, it was foolish Orcs who had triggered the River's wrath. The Nazgûl were hundreds of leagues away in Mordor, recovering from their defeat. Most of the Orcs had been drowned in the river, but there were some to be hunted down. Still, a few men and fewer elves were brought into the Houses, protesting all the way.

"'Tis only a flesh wound," Legolas argued.

"It's not a flesh wound. It's a puncture wound," Lothiriel corrected.

The wood-elf was not giving up, however. "I am humiliated to be receiving treatment from the best healer in Imladris when my only wound is a scratch!"

"Lord Elrond is the best healer in Imladris," Lothiriel pointed out.

"I am also humiliated to be constantly corrected."

The sea-elf could not help but laugh. "Lay still, Legolas!"

He grumbled under his breath, but did as he was directed. Lothiriel shook her head at the stubbornness of males. A stray Orc arrow had sliced open Legolas's upper arm, one that was probably poisoned. It seemed to her that males complained about the smallest ailments the most, but refused to accept help for the major wounds.

Legolas felt power in her touch. Not the physical power of a warrior, but a spiritual, soothing strength. His skin tingled where her healing hands touched, and a warmth spread through his muscles. He felt at once relaxed and energized. He had never felt a healer with such a gentle power as Lothiriel. He did not think even Elrond could teach this, but rather that Lothiriel had been born with healing hands.

She finished wrapping the bandage around Legolas's arm and he stood to leave. An evil grin crossed her lips.

"I prescribe bed rest for one day."

Legolas' jaw dropped, "You jest, I know you do."

The healer casually moved on to the next patient, but looked back at Legolas as she walked. "Just stay in that bed. I'll be around to check on you later."

Aragorn shook his head and laughed as Lothiriel sat down next to him beside a Ranger. He had already done most of the work, stitching up a slash on the man's abdomen. Lothiriel crushed some bitter-smelling herbs in water and began to wash the stitches with it.

"That was cruel," he said, still focused on his work.

Lothiriel chuckled softly, "Yes, but he will not stay here. He knows I jest."

* * *

Lothiriel entered the Houses of Healing the next morning to begin her rounds. A happy laugh escaped her lips as she looked at her second patient. Legolas sat in his bed, scowling deeply.

"Legolas, I did not think you would stay here."

Upon becoming privy to the joke, Legolas only frowned more deeply than before. Lothiriel sat on the edge of his bed with a mix between compassion and mirth on her face.

"Careful or you might wrinkle your fair elven skin."

At that, Legolas had had enough. He threw back the covers and stood from his healing bed. This defiance only invoked more laughter from Lothiriel. He wore the standard dressing gown of patients. Legolas grabbed his clothes off the stand next to his bed and walked behind the privacy screen.

"Come out when you are finished and we will go to breakfast."

When Legolas finally stepped out from behind the screen, he was prepared to continue his scowl and silent treatment, but Lothiriel was no longer sitting on his bed. She was standing in front of the window, watching the sunrise as a breeze blew through her hair. They had only ever met at dusk. Legolas saw now a new beauty in her, like the dawn brings a new day. Elves delighted in stars. Legolas thought that must be why Arwen was called the most beautiful maiden of the Third Age and Lothiriel was not.

"Amrûniel," Legolas whispered, finally understanding her second name.

Lothiriel turned to him, thinking that he'd called her. "Breakfast has already begun. We should hurry."

After breakfast and many apologies from Lothiriel, the two young elves sat beneath the trees along a path through the city. The days had turned cold, but elves do not feel such things.

"You seem changed," Legolas said, "I noticed it yesterday, but there was not time to speak of it."

"How so?" Lothiriel asked, "I did not know an elf could change in a matter of days."

The wood-elf shook his head, "In your eyes, they seem … resigned."

The elleth took a deep breath and turned her head away from Legolas.

"Many thoughts have come to me since our last night together," she began, "They are not the happiest thoughts."

"Share them," Legolas whispered.

Lothiriel did not speak for a very long time. When she did, her voice was touched with sadness.

"I have realized how quickly I shall be parted from all those who I hold dear. I will not see my parents before they sail West, Lord Elrond will depart after the end of the War and most of the residents of this city will go with him, Mithrandir must return to Valinor when he is summoned, and Bilbo is already very old. The sons of Elrond will not remain long after their father leaves. Arwen and Aragorn have perhaps a century to live. And you and I will live forever, but in very distant places."

A sad smiled touched Legolas's lips. "Yet for all these thoughts of loss, you have faith that we all will survive the coming war."

Lothiriel looked up, a bit startled. "Yes, I suppose I do believe that we will all meet at least once more. Still, the time of our parting grows too near."


	4. Farewell to Rivendell

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Three**

"**Farewell to Rivendell"**

The day had come.

Elrond would reconvene the Council and announce who he thought should be in the Fellowship. The hours seemed to tick by while everyone in Rivendell waited for their Lord to give the news. The nine people he chose carried the fate of the world. No army could defeat Sauron if the Ring was not destroyed.

"Lord Elrond will choose you."

Legolas looked up from his lunch. Lothiriel had been very quiet the past few days. Most of their time together had been spent watching the stars in the silence.

"I do not think so," Legolas returned, "I am only a prisoner's guard and youngest son. He will send his sons or a battle proven warrior as the representatives of the elves."

"No," Lothiriel shook her head, "Elladan and Elrohir have not returned yet and they will not for many weeks yet. The Fellowship must leave sooner. He will choose you in their stead."

Again, Legolas rejected her statements. "My bow is no match for the skill to fight off Nazgûl. I am too young, that is why I am a messenger of Mirkwood and not a border patrol."

"It is the young who will fight this war. You and I, Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen … we are not so worn by the troubles of this world that we grow weary. The elders tire of Middle-earth, I can see it in their eyes. This Quest to Mordor falls into the hands of the young. The untested will prove their worth."

"Why do you say all of this, Lothiriel? How do you know it?"

Lothiriel smiled bitterly, "I have heard it all, spoken less plainly. I am by Elrond's side in healing. His wisdom is all around. How could I not know?"

Legolas said nothing in return. Lothiriel's eyes were sad, but no more than any elf's in these evil days.

"Will you go?"

"Yes," he answered, without hesitation, "When I left Mirkwood, I felt that I would not return for a long time. Mithrandir thought it also. My path takes me far from my home, whether I am part of the Fellowship or not. If what you think is true, then I will take the South road, then East, and North again in a full circle to my home."

Lothiriel nodded, "I do not feel much differently. My skills will not be needed in Rivendell, not in this war. And I do not think the Dúnedain will require them either. Wherever I will go, I know not yet, but I will go gladly."

"Your paths are not so different, I do not think."

Legolas and Lothiriel turned their eyes up to see Mithrandir standing before them. It was the first time in two months either elf had seen him. Most of the time, he took council with Elrond and when he was free, Bilbo was trying to get stories from him.

"May an old wizard join you?"

"Of course, Mithrandir," Legolas said.

The wizard sat on the opposite side of the table, and then continued speaking. "Do not think of such things in the morning. You are both young, and immortal. You will never be overly troubled by this world for most of your life will be spent in Valinor."

Legolas's eyes grew troubled, "Mithrandir, you know that the wood-elves-"

The wizard held up his hands, "If you take the path I think you will, much will change."

"Much already has," Legolas answered.

Mithrandir laughed then, a hearty laugh like he had not done outside the Shire in many years. "Oh, yes, it has. It most certainly has." He was silent for only a moment. "Elrond wishes to speak with you in his study."

* * *

There was a soft knock on the door before Belethuil entered the chambers. Legolas acknowledged him with a nod, but continued packing. Lying on the bed was a large pack only half filled and many items that needed to be placed in the bag. A basket of arrows lie on the floor. The fletching was yellow, not green. Belethuil scowled at the weapons.

"You did not make your own arrows?" he asked.

"Nay, Glorfindel brought them to me."

"You accept these High-elves and their gifts too easily. Did you check the fletching? I think you will find it is not as accurate as our silvan craft."

Legolas did not turn to his father's advisor. "I did check. They are perfect."

Belethuil started at the answer. His face grew stern. "Do not entangle yourself with these elves." When Legolas did not answer, he continued. "I am not sad to see them leave Middle-earth. In fact, I say good riddance. They brought trouble with them from Valinor and have created it ever since. I am glad that we depart soon."

"As am I," the Prince replied.

"Then when shall we leave?" the herald asked, with a smile.

"You and the scouts may leave whenever you like. I leave with the Fellowship of the Ring."

Belethuil said nothing for a long time. "Why?"

"Why? Because Lord Elrond requested that I go."

"No, my Prince. Why do you fight their war? It was the Noldor who befriended Sauron. It was the Noldor who forged the Rings of Power. The wood-elves have fought beside them once before and we lost two-thirds of our elves doing so."

Legolas stood up straight. He tried to appear as princely as he could, but Belethuil was an old and noble Sindar of Doriath. Legolas was only a wood-elf with lofty daydreams.

"Perhaps it is the young who must fight this war. I am the youngest elf in Middle-earth."

Belethuil shook his head. "My Prince, you were just a tiny elfling when Sauron returned from exile and ended the Watchful Peace. You were not even a thought when your grandfather led our elves to Dagorlad. You father was barely of age when Beleriand was sunk into the depths of the sea. You are innocent in these matters. Let those with blood-stained hands do their own work."

Legolas handed a scroll to Belethuil. "Give this to my father. It is a message telling him that I have gone on a Quest to Mordor."

The elder elf replied vehemently, "You damn yourself, Legolas."

Legolas regarded the warrior of Mirkwood for a moment.

"I leave at dusk tomorrow."

* * *

The elves of Rivendell had gathered to say farewell to the Fellowship of the Ring. Lord Elrond had chosen Nine Companions to travel into Mordor, though none were bound to go further than they would. Frodo carried the burden of the Ring. After many farewells, Lothiriel gave the hobbit a small bag with fresh sprigs of athelas and some bandages.

"May you never have need of these," she said, and placed a kiss on his forehead. She turned to Sam then. "Take care of him, Master Gamgee. You remember my instructions on how to care for wounds."

Sam nodded, "Beggin' your pardon, Lady, but I don't need to be told to care for my master. But, yes, I do remember every instruction you gave. And I won't be forgettin' 'em either. I promise you that."

Elrond had also chosen two other hobbits, Merry and Pippin, a man of Gondor called Boromir, and Glóin's son Gimli. As expected, Estel and Mithrandir went also to aid Frodo. Lothiriel said brief farewells to them, as she had done many times before, believing she would see them again.

"Did I not say you would be chosen?"

Legolas looked up from his new wrist guards to Lothiriel. She was smiling, though a bittersweet air was about her.

"Do you come to gloat or say farewell?" he returned, smiling also.

"To say farewell. I bring you this." She held out a necklace of pearl, three large stones with many smaller ones between. "It is a tradition of the Teleri maidens to give pearls to their friends as they leave for long travel. Pearls are the symbol of beloved memory and changing bad fortune into good. I give them to you, a new friend, but very dear."

Legolas smiled softly at her, "Thank you, Lady Lothiriel. I will hold them dear and think of you every time I see them."

Lothiriel laid her hand on Legolas's cheek. "You go to save the world. Return to enjoy it."

* * *

Gandalf watched Legolas and Lothiriel for a moment longer, then turned to Elrond. The Elven-lord was also watching the Prince and Lady.

"Their faith is their strength," Gandalf said, "I pray that what they may see in the days to come will not destroy it."

Elrond agreed with a small nod, "Legolas will need strength on this quest, and Lothiriel will have need of it in the years following this war, if they should come."

Once again Gandalf nodded, "Many long years we will wait for her on distant shores."

Elrond eyes flitted from Lothiriel to Arwen. He knew the promise Lothiriel had made to his daughter and he was glad Arwen would have her dearest friend until the very end of her days.

* * *

Lothiriel and Arwen stood side-by-side, with Elrond and many other elves behind them, watching the Fellowship leave Rivendell. It would be many months and many perils later before they expected to see their friends again, but they did expect it. What Arwen thought while watching Aragorn leave her yet again, Lothiriel did not know. She herself felt profound sadness when her new friends finally disappeared from sight. She whispered a prayer to Ulmo that the pearls his ocean made would truly serve their purpose.

"We will see them again," Arwen said, turning to Lothiriel

Lothiriel nodded, "Yes, we will not if we hope for less."

As the Fellowship crossed over the Ford, Legolas turned back to the Gates of Rivendell. Some elves remained at the Gates, singing a song of farewell and safe travel. For the briefest moment, Legolas paused, though he did not know why. He could have asked for nothing better than this Quest. The chance for a wood-elf to see Middle-earth and for a youngest son to prove himself did not come often. But, Rivendell was hard to leave.

* * *

Arwen hurried into the Houses of Healing, searching for Lothiriel amid the healers, patients, empty beds, and privacy screens. She carried in both arms empty saddlebags. Elladan and Elrohir had just arrived with the Gray Company and many of the Rangers were in need of the healers' skills. They would not bother to tend what they thought were minor wounds in the wild and often they became serious ailments over time.

"Next time, wash it, Halbarad," Lothiriel scolded, "How many times do I have to tell you Rangers to wash!"

"Here, Lothiriel," Arwen said, laying the saddle bags on an empty bed, "Elrohir wants you to fill these for the Gray Company's journey to Rohan."

"Then, help me. There is much packing to do."

The ellyth went about carefully packing herbs in wet cloth and bandages into each bag. In three bags they placed also silver surgical tools, smelling salts, and anesthetics. Two of the packs were obviously for Elladan and Elrohir, but the third Arwen did not understand.

"I thought my path would lead me far from home. It is to Rohan I go," Lothiriel said.

"What! No, you cannot, Lothiriel! You will not be allowed," Arwen protested.

"Why would I not be allowed to ride into war as a healer?"

Arwen sighed, "You cannot use a sword or a bow. The only knife work you know is in surgery and that's not going to kill an Uruk-hai. You can barely ride a horse, Lothiriel!"

Lothiriel turned resolutely to Arwen, "I CAN ride a horse …with a saddle. Now, take these bags to the Gray Company. I will keep mine and fit it to my horse when I leave."

Lothiriel turned to leave the Houses of Healing, but was blocked by Elrond regarding her with a stern face and hard eyes.

"Take those bags to the Rangers, Arwen. I need to speak with Lothiriel."

Lothiriel nearly faltered under the penetrating glare of her Elven-lord, but she held firm. After Arwen was gone, she dared to speak.

"I will be needed."

"My sons are able healers," Elrond said, "Put down that bag and return to tending the Rangers. They need care before they ride."

"I want to go," she repeated, though her voice was timid.

The Lord of Imladris shook his head; "I will not send a Lady into a battle zone. Especially not one who cannot defend herself. And even if I did agree, the Rangers would never allow you to go."

Lothiriel tightened her jaw. She gathered all her courage and looked Elrond directly in the eye. "You tell Elladan and Elrohir to ride with the Dúnedain because they were born to protect their kin. You tell Estel to go to Gondor and claim the throne because he was born a King. I was born to heal. Will you not also tell me to do what I was born to do?"

* * *

Arwen waved to the Gray Company as they passed out of the gates of Imladris. Standing beside her was Lothiriel, scowling deeply with her jaw clenched. The young elf was sure she could convince Elrond to allow her to ride with the Gray Company, but he was unmoved by her plea. He held his position firmly that an elleth untrained in self-defense was not fit to ride into battle, even as a healer.

"It is for your own good," Arwen said, softly.

"No. It is for your own good and for your Adar's own good that I remain hidden and useless so you do not have to worry. Why can I not protect those that I love?"

Arwen embraced her friend tightly, "Because, Lothiriel, if these evil times should pass, I will demand you keep your promise! You cannot stay with me in Gondor if you die needlessly!"

Lothiriel pulled away slowly. "I promise you again, Arwen, I will remain with you until your mortal life ends. You have already chosen your path. You cannot take back your immortal years now. Do you wish for Estel to die from injury on a battlefield? Or your brothers? Or even Frodo, after we went through so much to save him? Any one of those injuries I could heal if I were allowed to ride with the Gray Company. Would you die needlessly from grief before your time? Help me, Arwen. You know it is the right thing."

Arwen stared at her best friend, her eyes wide. Lothiriel was young and passionate, and often such displays of emotion put older, wiser elves into a state of disillusion that made them do things they should not. This was not one of those times. Arwen was wise, and knew the folly in giving in to Lothiriel's demands. She trusted that the future was in the hands of Ilúvatar, and all that He wished would come to pass.

* * *

Elrohir was the first to notice the figure trailing the Gray Company and very obviously trying to catch up. The Rangers checked their horses and waited while the twins squinted into the sunset. They were already a day's ride out from Imladris, and they did not expect any more Rangers to join them.

"It is Glorfindel!" Elladan cried, "There is no other warrior in Imladris with such a golden head."

The Rangers had heard how Glorfindel had destroyed the Nazgûl, and their hearts were lifted when they heard he was coming. They laughed at Elladan's joke, and made many more while the rider approached.

Elrohir nodded, "Yes, it is. A terror the Nazgûl will remember and fear comes to us!"

"No," Elrohir said, barely above a whisper, "No, tell me it is not so, brother."

But already, Elladan's excitement had faded away. The brothers urged their mounts forward to meet the rider far from the Gray Company. When they met, the horses of Elladan and Elrohir welcomed their stable-mate warmly, but the greeting between elves was not so friendly.

"Go back to Imladris, Lothiriel," Elladan said, firmly.

The elleth shook her head, "I am a healer, and we are at war. I cannot turn from my path now or I shall never be able to return. Let me ride with you to Rohan. Wherever there are wounded soldiers, I can be of use."

"Rohan has healers. Return to Imladris before our father finds you missing," Elrohir said, "Do not bring trouble upon yourself, and we will never tell that you came looking for it."

Aerlinn stamped his hoof, anxious to be on his way. Lothiriel had promised him a long journey at a fast pace. The white horse that was usually kept inside Rivendell graciously allowed the elleth to ride him for this exchange. The brothers noticed that Lothiriel wore a sword at her hip. Its hilt was white and it was scripted with gold Quenya. That sword belonged to the armory of Imladris.

"Allow me to ride with you, and I will serve any who I may or you will be forced to escort me back."

The twins stared at her with cold, gray eyes and matching expressions of anger, though they had not even glanced at each other. Lothiriel had thought speaking so boldly to Elrond was difficult, but he was only one.

"I will not hinder you. I will follow your command without question. Even if it is to leave me behind in Rohan while you ride to war in Gondor."

Elrohir nodded once at Elladan, who then nodded to Lothiriel, but his gaze was still firm. It was only the final sentence in Lothiriel's plea that made them agree. They intended to leave her at the first safe location.

"Lady Lothiriel," said Halbarad, shocked, "What is a Lady doing so far from Imladris?"

"She is coming with us," Elladan said, "Keep her in the center and know that should any evil befall us, she has a sword, but cannot defend herself."

Lothiriel was staring holes into the back of his head, but he paid her no mind. The Rangers exchanged silence glances of either worry or annoyance, but they did as the sons of Elrond commanded and formed a protective circle around the Lady.

"We ride until nightfall," Elladan said, and spurred his horse forward.

The rest of the Gray Company did the same and brought their horses to a steady gallop. Lothiriel found herself thinking the most absurd thought as she looked around at the Rangers. She was very glad she chose a gray riding dress.


	5. Time Passes Quickly On

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Four**

"**Time Passes Quickly On"**

"I wish I were back in Rivendell, with the elves," said Pippin.

The dejected hobbit sat down on his bedroll and sighed deeply. For three days now, they had been trapped in the dark of Moria without a fire. And that meant without a decent meal.

"You're here with an elf, so stop your complaining, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, sitting down himself.

Pippin did not plan to stop complaining and his comment had dragged a similarly depressed Sam into a conversation with him.

"No offense to Mr. Legolas. I wouldn't be wantin' to offend no elf, no sir, but I miss Lady Lothiriel and all of her sweet smelling herbs. She smells like kingsfoil she does. It makes me dreamy to be around her, if you get my meaning."

Legolas said nothing to the comment, but placed his hand on his breast. Under his tunic and jerkin, his fingers felt three small lumps, the pearls that Lothiriel had given to him. He agreed silently with Sam, he missed the smell of athelas.

"Many of us miss elves," Aragorn said, quietly.

"And many places," Boromir added, "but it does the heart ill to think about them too often."

The conversation lulled then and each member of the Fellowship thought silently of his greatest desire, though he had just been told not to do so.

"I will take first watch," Legolas said.

The Company quickly agreed and laid down for their rest.

"Wake me in two hours," Boromir said.

When the Company was all resting, Legolas touched the pearls around his neck again. He had noticed within a week that Mithrandir and Aragorn both carried a necklace with a single pearl. Only recently had he seen Frodo with one. He thought Sam probably had one too. But she had given him three large pearls, with many smaller ones also, on a silver chain. It did his heart good to know that. Now, if they could only get out of Moria.

* * *

A shadow appeared in the doorway, elongated by the sinking sun. Already, the candles were lit in the study of the Last Homely House. Elrond planned to prepare long into the night. The message to Lord Círdan was on the edge of the desk, the ink drying. A second message, this one to Thranduil, was half-written. Elrond looked up from the parchment to see Arwen standing half-hidden behind the doorjamb.

"Come in, daughter."

Arwen slowly entered her father's study, her eyes never meeting his. There was a nervous quality about her that Elrond had not seen in her since she had come of age. He laid down the quill, aware that something was not right.

"What troubles you?" he asked.

Arwen said nothing for a very long time, but she did not need to speak for Elrond to learn her thought. Worry and guilt filled her eyes, two things not natural for an elf to feel.

"What have you done, Arwen?" Elrond whispered.

He lost his posture for only a moment as a mental picture of Lothiriel riding Aerlinn with a Noldorin sword at her side reached his mind. Arwen's eyes fell to the floor, and she did not look up again. Elrond walked around his desk and pulled his daughter into an embrace.

"I should have told you, ada," Arwen said, "I did not think Lothiriel had courage enough to leave Imladris alone."

"I am sure Elladan and Elrohir will not allow her to ride with them. And if they do, Ilúvatar help them when they return."

Elrond stayed in his library long into the night. The messages he had meant to write to other Elven-lords had been forgotten. He retrieved a book from one of the many shelves in his library, opened to a well-memorized page, and began to read.

_An excerpt from "The History of the House of Círdan the Shipwright," Vol. XXVI as recorded by Elrond Peredhil._

_7 Narbeleth 2316 T.A._

_She is a healer. It flows from the tips of her fingers. I have foreseen that in the future Lothiriel will have a great need for this skill, and I have come to the decision that I will teach her all I know._

_This is what has been revealed to me:_

_The Black Breath consumes his mind, _

_The Ring bends his will, _

_Despair devours his spirit. _

_But, still he topples the Tower _

_For Lothiriel Morning-Flower._

_This poem greatly troubles me for many reasons. It speaks of Sauron's rise to power once more and entangles Lothiriel in the Dark Lord's evil. I cannot claim to understand any more of the poem. The future is shown vaguely so the one that foresees it does not attempt to change it. _

Elrond looked again to the South. He wondered once more about the words regarding his protégé. Even now that the time had come, Elrond did not understand how Lothiriel would help Frodo destroy the Ring.

* * *

The ride was long and hard. The Rangers and the horses were pushed to the point of exhaustion every day, but the journey continued on at sunrise. Elladan and Elrohir did not feel the strain as their mortal friends did, but they were always mindful of human limitations. They always took first watch and acted as scouts.

Lothiriel laid on her bedroll, staring up at the stars. The ground became more flat the farther South they traveled, but that did not mean the land was smooth. She turned, trying to alleviate the pain of a stone digging into her back, but found only another abrasion in the land. She prayed to Ilúvatar, thanking him for making her an elf. If she were not, she thought she would surely be dead from pain.

When Elladan and Elrohir returned from a mission with the Rangers, they were never tired or sore, only hungry. Lothiriel assumed her experience would be the same. It was not. Aerlinn was an elvish horse and always mindful of his elven-rider, but Lothiriel could not allow him to slow his pace for her without causing her Elven-lords and the Rangers to chastise her. She admitted now, to herself and Aerlinn only, that this idea was silly. She was not equipped enough to ride into war. She was barely equipped to ride period.

Once again, Lothiriel rolled onto her back and looked at the stars. All around her the Rangers were sleeping as deeply as a Ranger would allow himself. The horses were tied to pickets and all asleep as well. Only Elladan and Elrohir sat by the fire, keeping watch into the night. Her legs were stiff from sitting in a saddle all day and her lower back ached from riding with the wrong posture. Even her arms were strained from holding the reigns. She would not allow herself to complain. At least her stomach was full of lembas.

"Lothiriel, are you awake?"

The Lady sat up as quickly as her strained muscles allowed. Elrohir was turning towards her, but Elladan kept watch. The younger twin held out a small vial full of amber liquid.

"Miruvor!" Lothiriel said, with great relief.

The drink of Rivendell brought renewed energy to both body and mind. It was a favorite of warriors who patrolled the High Pass through the Misty Mountains. Those warriors often checked their packs to ensure they had enough to the drink before leaving for their patrol.

"We thought we have made you suffer enough." He handed her the entire flask. "The Rangers prefer not to use it. For mortals, it sometimes causes more ill effects than good."

Lothiriel thanked him and tucked the flask into her pack lying beside her. Elladan turned from his watch to the Lady and his brother. As the eldest, Elrond often held him accountable far more than Elrohir.

"Can you use that sword at all?" he asked.

Lothiriel shook her head, "I have seen a sword wielded, and when Estel was just a boy, I played with him. But I cannot use it, no."

Elladan nodded to his brother and Elrohir stood. He unsheathed the sword hanging at his hip.

"Then it is time for a lesson, though a brief and basic lesson it must be. We arrive at the border of Rohan by nightfall tomorrow."

Elrohir taught Lothiriel the basic structure of self-defense into the early morning, then he laid down to rest and Elladan took over. By the time the Rangers began to wake, Lothiriel could block a swing, but little else. Still, seeing this eased the Rangers' concerns a little.

Lothiriel knew the price she would pay for the swordplay lesson. Another day of riding lie ahead of her and she had not slept even for an hour.

* * *

Legolas stood beneath the trees with his eyes closed. It was the Fellowship's last night in Lothlórien. A voice whispered in the back of his head that he would never again see this forest in such majesty. While his companions slept, Legolas walked under golden leaves one last time, attempting to file everything in his immortal memory.

For many days (he did not know how many), he had explored the forest with all the energy and enthusiasm of an elf in his youth. He had come to learn many secrets from the trees and made many friends among the march wardens. Haldir and his brothers had shown Legolas paths through the Golden Wood that he otherwise would have overlooked. He took Gimli with him, though the dwarf disliked the outdoors greatly.

He was aware that his father would not approve, but it was only a brief thought. Already, Legolas had seen more of the world than all the elves in his realm combined. He could not bring himself to revert to the old ways of Mirkwood. Legolas had always been warned that if it was necessary to be around Men and High-elves, it was also necessary to stay wary of them. Yet there was strength in Men and wisdom in High-elves.

A figure of glowing white appeared among the trees. Galadriel stood before Legolas a moment later without the wood-elf ever hearing her approach. He was both startled and intrigued by the Lady's power. He bowed slightly, enough to show respect, but not be garish.

The Lady paused in her steps. "Never did I think I would see a son of Thranduil bow to me."

Legolas was clearly puzzled, "My Lady?"

"Surely you guess my meaning, Prince of Mirkwood. Has my name never been frowned upon in your father's halls?"

Legolas averted his eyes, "For my part, I do not speak of those I do not know."

Galadriel smiled, almost ruefully, "What I would give to be young again. To be young and in Valinor." Her eyes became wistful as an old memory resurfaced in her ancient mind. "Have you ever imagined Valinor?"

"I have, once," Legolas answered truthfully.

Galadriel's eyebrows rose, "I am curious to know what would cause a wood-elf to dream of the Undying Lands."

"In Imladris there is a maiden called Lothiriel Morning-Flower." Legolas sighed softly. "She is Teleri. In her voice, I heard the sea call."

Her face remained unreadable, but Galadriel remembered Lothiriel. The healer had visited the Golden Wood many times with Arwen. She perceived that Legolas knew Lothiriel well for he named her without the title of Lady, yet bowed reverently to her.

"It is hard to hear the Teleri sing, yet so beautiful to behold. But, you speak of her tenderly."

He nodded slowly, "Yes, my Lady. I cannot hide anything from you so I will not try."

She did not smile nor did she frown, but her wise eyes were troubled. Though he was a son of Thranduil, Legolas was no closed-minded, skeptical elf. His mind was sharp, and his eyes full of wonder. His heart was open, easy to read, and carefree. Yet, for the fondness Galadriel felt for this young elf, she knew that Legolas did not yet feel the call of the sea. The Lady of Light was silent for a long moment. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, they were haunted.

"What you heard calling you in a Teleri voice is only but a fraction of the torment she must feel. Do not hinder another's journey for their pain will become your guilt."

She disappeared into the forest as quickly as she had appeared. A voice lingered inside of Legolas's head, a last message from Galadriel.

"For the Eldar, life is one long journey to the shore."


	6. Arrival at Meduseld

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Five **

"**Arrival at Meduseld"**

"The Battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-earth has just begun," said Gandalf.

His eyes strayed to the East. He did not look at the Huorn forest or the mountain range rising in the distance. He looked for something far beyond his vision. In his mind, he searched for Frodo. Somewhere, in the East, two small hobbits carried the fate of Middle-earth. No battle fought by men could defeat Mordor if Frodo's quest failed.

Gandalf wanted nothing more than to lend strength to Frodo, but Gandalf the White could help him no more than Gandalf the Gray. Frodo was beyond accepting help from anyone, except perhaps from Sam. He said a silent prayer for Frodo to find the strength he needed. For Sam, Gandalf prayed the most. This Quest fell mostly on him, though Samwise Gamgee had not known that when he set out from the Shire.

"Our road leads us now to Isengard," the wizard continued.

Behind him, mounted on their horses, were Aragorn and Legolas with Gimli behind him. They would follow him without question, but Théoden was not so easily convinced that riding to meet Saruman was the wisest decision. Gandalf curbed his tongue. Though he wished to say Maiar were wiser than men that would not gain the King's approval.

As Gandalf and Théoden argued their points, Legolas and Gimli surveyed the Huorn forest from afar. The men of Rohan had fought to the point of exhaustion. Only Legolas and Gimli stayed lighthearted throughout the battle. They played their game of counting their victims, all the while fighting fiercely. Aragorn would not join in, but enjoyed the levity his friends' game gave to the battle.

Absently, Legolas's hand strayed to his chest. Lothiriel's pearls had served their purpose once more. He knew that his lack of injury since leaving Rivendell was more likely to stem from his elven-senses than from the pearls. Still, the Fellowship had faced many perils that they should not have escaped from. Even the loss of Gandalf in Moria had turned out for the best. Only the death of Boromir was a question in Legolas's mind. Aragorn said sadly that that too was for the best, but he would not say why.

"We go to Isengard," Gandalf said, returning to Shadowfax.

Many things were found in Isengard. The caverns that had once belched black fumes were drowned with the waters of the River Isen. No more Uruk-hai were bred beneath the earth, no more crude swords were forged, and no longer was Saruman the most powerful wizard in Middle-earth. The Ents, led by Treebeard, had destroyed the stone circle and locked Saruman in his tower. Two members of the Fellowship were also recovered. Merry and Pippin were found feasting and smoking, but no one expected differently from the two hobbits.

The Company did not linger long in Isengard. The purpose of such a visit was only to ensure that Isengard was destroyed. Treebeard had promised to guard Saruman. Though Gandalf had broken his staff, Saruman was not completely stripped of power. The King of Rohan with his Knights and the remaining Fellowship turned quickly towards Edoras again.

Legolas stood several paces from his bedroll, staring into the black sky. His elven-senses told him some evil was coming from above. His eyes were drawn to the sky, trying to pierce the blackness. Even the elf's eyes were not sharp enough to spot the black figure moving through the night sky until it was directly overhead.

The air around the Riders turned cold. Some threw themselves to the ground. Others cried out as a vast shadow appeared on the face of the waning moon, then went away north. Legolas saw the creature clearly with his elf-eyes. It was the same figure he had shot above Amon Lhaw before the breaking of the Fellowship.

"Nazgûl!" cried Gandalf, "The messengers of Mordor have crossed the river! Ride, Ride! Wait not for dawn!"

The King's Company needed no more than Gandalf's orders to spur them on through the night. They rode hard towards Edoras. The coming of the Ringwraith meant only one thing; another battle in this war was coming. Gandalf had said the battle for Helm's Deep was only the first. The Riders were unsure of what they would find on the path to Edoras. They rode swiftly, but with caution.

The horseman checked his mount and turned to look behind him. From far off, he thought he heard the stamping of hooves. All night, he had heard this, but now he was sure. He thought two things of the approaching company. One, they were riding to overtake. Two, they were not attempting to disguise their approach.

"What is it, Éomer?"

The Third Marshal of the Mark turned his attention from behind to the man beside him. Aragorn sat atop Hasufel with the hobbit Merry in front of him. The Ranger's question had caught the attention of Théoden, Legolas, and Gimli. The riders led Snowmane and Arod over to Éomer, who was again staring into the darkness.

"A company of riders is trying to overtake us," Éomer answered.

Legolas looked to where Éomer directed. His elf-eyes could see much farther than even the Rohirrim who knew these lands so well. He saw a company of riders not much larger than the King's escort with spears glinting in the moonlight.

"I do not recognize them," Legolas said, "but they are few in number and do not ride as if they mean to attack."

If the Riders of the Mark had been told at any other time such a thing, they would have been surprised and suspicious. In recent days, however, the Men of the Mark had learned that Ents were not only children's tales, the Huorns had defeated the retreating Orcs, and they had lived to see a winged Nazgûl cross the River Isen. Nothing could ever surprise these men again, or so they thought.

"Halt!" cried Éomer, "Who rides in Rohan!"

Through the darkness, a single rider could be seen dismounting. He held in one hand a white flag, the sign of peace, to the Riders of the Mark.

"I am Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North. Thirty are in my Company. We come seeking Aragorn, son of Arathorn for we have received his summons."

"And you have found him," Aragorn called, dismounting Hasufel, "though he did not summon you. The Gray Company is always well met."

The two Rangers greeted each other warmly. Then, Halbarad motioned for the Rangers to ride forward.

"We are in your service, Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dúnedain. If the King of the Mark will allow us to ride with you."

"Of course he allows," Théoden said, "Thirty men such as Aragorn are an asset not seen in Rohan in my time."

"We must ride now with all haste," Aragorn said, "The Nazgûl have crossed the River. Our fight comes swiftly."

The ride was made in haste, as Gandalf had ordered. Soon, a mound rising from the flat plains of Rohan could be seen in the distance. On that mound was built the chief city of Rohan, Edoras.

* * *

Rohan lie all around her. From her high perch of stone, she saw lush valleys and snowcapped mountains and barren plains. The wind whistled through Edoras and caught her hair in a whirlwind of gold, but she did not move to tame it. On this manmade precipice, Éowyn felt free. The burden of her title and the sorrow of her confinement flew away with the breeze. But, it was short-lived.

Riding across the plains, the King's escort was returning to Edoras. Behind them, came a second company of men, this one led by Aragorn. Éowyn turned from her spot and hurried into Meduseld. As Lady of Edoras, it was her duty to welcome the men home, to find them food and bedding.

She paused for a moment and looked down at her clothing. She wore chain mail over her dress and a breastplate worn by Éomer when he was a young man. At her hip hung a sword forged especially for her.

But that meant nothing … and she knew it. She was the Lady of Edoras, not its protector.

As Éowyn ordered the servants to make beds and prepare a meal, the Riders and Rangers entered the Golden Hall. None of them were wounded, and for that she was glad. Her people had seen too much war and would only see more in the days to come. Gandalf's hope of a parley with Saruman must have gone according to plan.

The Riders were welcomed home warmly by fellow soldiers, their wives, and their children. It was a joyous sight for Éowyn to behold, and she herself felt very relieved to again see Théoden and Éomer returned to Meduseld. The Rangers entered next, though they were barely noticed by the Rohirrim intent on greeting their own countrymen. They were much the same as Aragorn; weathered yet noble of blood. They wore gray, which suited their stern manner. Among them were Legolas the Elf and Gimli the Dwarf. Also, two identical elves with dark hair and gray eyes were among them.

Through the dim candlelight in the Hall, Éowyn thought she saw a remarkable figure. It seemed to her that her every dream came true as the last of the Rangers entered the room. But this was not a Ranger. Walking proudly behind the Dúnedain was a female elf. She also was dressed in gray, though in a riding gown. At her hip hung a sword with a white hilt, scripted with gold Quenya.

Éowyn hurried over to the elleth and bowed slightly.

"My Lady," she said, with a smile, "Please, come with me, I will find you some place more private. Away from the men."

The elleth smiled wearily, as if she were privy to mortal fatigue, and nodded. Éowyn led her from the main hall and down a series of corridors.

"I am Éowyn, sister-daughter of Théoden King."

"I am Lothiriel Amrûniel, healer of Imladris."

Éowyn opened the heavy wooden door to the room adjacent to her own. The floor was stone, but covered with many animal skins to fight off the winter cold. It was sparsely decorated with horse-patterns and contained only a bed and table.

"It is not much, but it is warm and away from the soldiers," Éowyn said.

"Any real bed shall suite me fine. I am not in the practice of traveling and sleeping on bare ground."

Lothiriel put down her saddlebags and searched around for her spare gown, but found only another riding gown. Éowyn began to speak again.

"Is it the custom of elves to send their women into battle?" A hint of apprehension was in her voice.

"Nay, Lady, it is not. We may learn archery or swordplay if we so choose, but most do not. There are a few exceptions. Some ellyth are very brave and skilled with weapons."

"And you as well," Éowyn replied, a bright smile on her lips, "I do not think any wise elf would send you on such a journey if you were not."

Lothiriel sighed, "Quick with thought, but not with a weapon. I defied my Lord's orders to take this journey. I am a healer, nothing more. I come to protect those that I love."

Eowyn's eyes lit with respect at Lothiriel's answer. "Noble is your cause, Lady Lothiriel, and much the same as mine. But, dinner is nearly served now, and we must be in attendance. I will loan you a dress. The Rohirrim design is not as elegant as that of the elves, but more comfortable than even the finest riding gown."

The ways of Rohan were less sophisticated than those of Rivendell or Lothlórien, but the reunited members of the Fellowship did not complain. The Hall was warm, the food served to them was good, and the ale was cold. They could ask for no more. The King's table was filled with newly made friends. Théoden and Éomer sat at the head, with Gamling in a position of honor. Then sat the four members of the Fellowship; Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Merry, along with the sons of Elrond. There was no talk of war during this meal, only one final moment of camaraderie.

"Where is Éowyn?" Théoden asked, looking around the Hall, "I wish her to sit with us and forget her duties for tonight."

Éomer answered, "She is with the elf-maiden, who rode in with the Rangers."

At this, all other conversations died. No one had noticed that a female rode with the Gray Company. The terror of the winged Nazgûl overhead had just been revealed to them. Gandalf had hastily ordered them to depart immediately, then disappeared into the darkness with the halfling Pippin. There was no time to question Halbarad when the Rangers overtook the Rohirrim.

"An elleth rode with you?" Merry asked, "Sam will be upset to hear he missed this."

Despite his better judgment, Aragorn allowed himself to hope that Arwen had come. Elrond would have not permitted any other elleth in Rivendell to make the journey, but he knew Arwen would not have come. It was against her nature to fight.

Legolas also dared to think that it was Lothiriel who had come. Once again, his hand reached to his breast, where still the pearls hung. Throughout the journey, he had turned his thoughts often to Lothiriel. His only true hope had been that he would see her again. If he survived the War, he must return home to Mirkwood. It would be years before he could return to Imladris. And always one thought tugged at his mind. Would Lothiriel leave Middle-earth before then? His mind now recalled what Lothiriel had said to him on their final day together in Imladris.

_"My skills will not be needed in Rivendell, not in this war. And I do not think the Dúnedain will require them either. Wherever I will go, I know not yet, but I will go gladly."_

"Yes," said Elladan, "An elleth does ride with us, though not beyond this place. That is, if Théoden King will allow her to remain."

"She may, though I do not understand why she would come with you if she is not to remain with you," Théoden answered.

"To understand that, good King, you must understand the mind of Lothiriel Morning-Flower. None do save our sister Arwen," Elrohir replied.

Legolas's heart jumped at the mention of her name. It was beyond his hope that he could see Lothiriel one more time, however short their time was together.

"She caught up with our company a full day's ride from our home and would not return. We did not want to leave her in the wild nor lose precious time. She agreed to be left at the first safe location," the elder twin finished.

"Sounds like Éowyn," Éomer murmured. Only Gamling heard, but he quickly agreed.

"War has passed from Rohan for a time. She may remain here."

"Then, Lady Lothiriel is here?" Legolas asked. His joy was carefully masked.

"I think that was established, Elf," Gimli smarted.

Legolas nearly replied in equal sarcasm when his heart was lifted by the sweet smell of athelas. He turned to see a dream float into the Hall. Lothiriel was dressed differently, like the women of Rohan, and her hair was braided and bound, but she lost none of her beauty. Her eyes seemed weary, but her luminescent skin shone brightly in the dimly lit Hall. Beside her was Lady Éowyn, and she seemed less sorrowful and more proud than she had at Helm's Deep.

"My Lords, Lady Lothiriel Morning-Flower, Healer of Rivendell," Éowyn said, introducing her in the formal manner of Rohan.

The Men at the table looked at her in awe. She was the first elf-maiden seen among men in many years. Just weeks ago, the Rohirrim had believed elf-maidens to be witches who hid in the forest. Now, one stood among them.

"Is this the elf-Queen you speak of, Master Dwarf?" Éomer asked, "For if she is, I retract my errant comments and beg your forgiveness."

"Nay, the Queen I speak of is Galadriel."

"Then, truly I am not she," Lothiriel answered, "Lady Galadriel is more radiant than the sun at high noon. I am but a flower blooming in the first rays of dawn."

The Men at the table were not convinced for even the plainest elves rose above all expectations of beauty for mortals. To the elves, however, this statement was true. Except, that Legolas seemed to take offense as the Men did.

Legolas moved from his place at the table over to Lothiriel. He spoke in quiet elvish to her, to shield his words from as many as he could.

"May we walk beneath the stars again this night?"

"I would hope for nothing less."


	7. The Last Night Delayed

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Six**

"**The Last Night Delayed"**

The lights of Meduseld flickered in the distance. The bright stars of Elbereth shone overhead, still untouched by the evil spreading from Mordor. The two elves walked slowly through the night, enjoying their last moments together. Legolas looked down at Lothiriel's hand tucked perfectly into his own. It was so small, so delicate, just like Lothiriel.

"I am glad to see you once more. I have spent many watches at night and many dreamscapes with you in my thoughts," he said, looking up.

The elleth smiled and nodded, "As have I, my Prince. The months without you were long. Longer than any I have known in my immortal life."

Legolas barely noticed that she addressed him as Prince, but it did not matter much to him what she called him. She was with him, and that was all that was important.

"We faced many trials as the Fellowship, but always your pearls turned bad fortune into good … and always I had beloved memories of you. Just as you promised."

Lothiriel placed her hand on his chest and felt the pearls beneath his tunic. "You hide them, Legolas? How can I believe your words?"

The wood-elf pulled lightly on the chain around his neck and laid the pearls above his tunic.

"They're completely unharmed! I have never seen such a strong pearl. It is as if you have gone through no perils at all!"

Lothiriel reached for the pearls to ensure that they were indeed unscathed. As soon her fingers brushed against his chest, Legolas felt the energizing power of her touch. It was as if the troubles of the Quest fell away in that very instant, and he was as invigorated as the day he left Mirkwood for Rivendell.

Lothiriel pulled her hand away quickly. She also felt the transfer of healing, and it unsettled her. Such a thing was up to her discretion to give, and she had not intended to heal Legolas of his weariness. They stood in silence watching the first rays of dawn spread across the plains of Rohan and color the sky a brilliant blue. It was a false sign of hope. The Shadow of Mordor lingered in the distance, threatening to attack once more.

* * *

"Lady Lothiriel!" Éowyn called, hurrying down the corridor.

The Lady of Edoras was dressed as if she were ready to travel, which surprised the elleth. She was not aware that Éowyn was permitted to leave Edoras.

"My Lady, do you travel with the soldiers to Dunharrow?" Lothiriel asked.

Elladan, Elrohir, Aragorn, and Halbarad had banded together to inform Lothiriel that she would be staying in Edoras. She would have pleaded her case, but she and Legolas had returned to Meduseld so late that Legolas barely had time to prepare Arod for their departure. She had merely accepted their decision in favor of saying farewell to Legolas.

"It is tradition of the women of the court to do so. Théoden King requests you ride to Dunharrow. Also, he wishes to speak with you on the way. But, you must hurry if you are to ride with the King's company."

During Éowyn's rushed speech, she had ushered Lothiriel into her chamber and presented her with her washed, gray riding gown.

"I will not have time to prepare Aerlinn," Lothiriel said.

Éowyn shook her head, "I have already asked a stable boy to do so."

"Then truly I must hurry. Aerlinn will not suffer any he does not know to approach him."

Not half an hour later, Lothiriel was riding to the first encampment of the Rohirrim. Aerlinn had been saddled and laden with Lothiriel's healing bags as Éowyn said he would be.

"The Rohan are indeed skilled with horses," Lothiriel admitted, "I did not believe any man could gain the trust of an elvish horse, but I was proved wrong."

Théoden nodded, "We love our horses as we love our children. They are our life, as healing is yours. At least, that is what I am told by Lord Aragorn."

"He speaks truly. I know nothing else."

"Then it is so that we are similar for neither do the Rohirrim know anything other than horses. But, this is what I wished to speak to you about." Lothiriel said nothing, so Théoden continued. "Our people have healers, of course, and so does Gondor. But, we are not so proud or arrogant to think that our skills surpass the Firstborn. I hear Lord Elrond taught you all that he knows. That is a name known in Edoras, and respected from all we've heard. Is all I say true?"

"Yes, Théoden King, it is so."

The old King nodded, and then continued on, "The sons of Elrond have placed you in the care of the Rohirrim, as you know, to be left at Edoras. I do not believe this wise, though it is probably selfishness speaking. I request that you stay with my cavalry, as a healer. We have few healers and fewer supplies, but perhaps your years of experience will help us should any survive to receive care."

Lothiriel's eyes brightened, and she answered warmly. "I am honored at such a request. Before this war began, I promised my skills to whoever was in need. I will ride with your healers, if my Elven-lords will allow."

Théoden smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "I will have you introduced at Dunharrow. Now, I must speak with my son."

Théoden rode forward to Éomer. Lothiriel smiled at the King and Prince of Rohan. By birth, Éomer was Théoden's nephew, but he had been newly called Théoden's son and heir to the throne of Rohan. A moment later, Éowyn rode up beside Lothiriel. The woman smiled, much the same way as her uncle had before.

"You will help many of our soldiers. I am glad my uncle saw wisdom in enlisting your service. He often overlooks his assets."

"What troubles you, Éowyn?"

The woman shook her head, "It is naught that should trouble you as well."

They rode together in silence, as elves and grave women are keen to do. Éowyn was consumed in her thoughts, but Lothiriel only looked at Rohan with the wonder of one who rarely traveled out of elven-realms. It was not long before the Rohirrim came to the winding steps of Dunharrow. As the King's company zigzagged across the sheer rock face, a dread began to settle on Lothiriel.

"Lady Éowyn, what is this place that I feel danger from the earth?"

"It is Dunharrow, our encampment. The danger you feel is from the Dimholt, the Paths of the Dead that lie in the mountains. None who enter ever return. It is the path the Gray Company will take."

Lothiriel started, being taken unawares for the first time in centuries. The Paths of the Dead was an ominous name for one who would never face death. In Lothiriel's mind were conjured images of deep tunnels carved in stone where air no longer reached, spirits of Men, tortured and angry, and never-ending darkness. She shuddered and looked up just to see the last of the Gray Company ascending the precipice of Dunharrow.

* * *

"So," Gimli began, "who's the elf-girl?"

Legolas sighed and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. The dwarf couldn't see such motions from his place on Arod's back, but he did it for his own amusement.

"She was introduced at dinner last night."

"Aye. And then you disappeared together only to return at dawn."

"True. If you don't mind, Gimli, I'd like to rest in the elven way now."

"Oh no you don't, laddie! I want answers!"

Legolas truly sighed now, "You should be aware, dwarf, that I am several hundred years your senior. 'Laddie' is highly inappropriate."

"Stop changing the subject!"

Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir watched in amusement as the elf and dwarf argued. They were an odd pair, opposite both physically and mentally. But, they were both unlike their respective races. Gimli was considerably less secretive and hostile than his forefathers, but no less fierce in battle. Likewise, Legolas was not as secluded or close-minded as the wood-elves. In a short time, the sons of Elrond had come to accept him as readily as Lothiriel had, and they were not young.

"Lothiriel Amrûniel is her name," Elrohir offered, "She is a sea-elf, but has not lived in Mithlond for many years. Sometimes, she visits Círdan, her distant grandsire, but mostly she resides in Imladris."

Gimli scowled, "Dwarves do not like the sea."

"Then you will not like the path we will take," Aragorn stated. He smiled childishly as he thought of the dwarf gripping the side of a ship, but he couldn't help himself. Some levity was needed in such a grim situation.

Even as the friends were speaking, their journey to Dunharrow was complete. A camp was already set up on the precipice of the Mountain. The air was so thick with the fear and tension of the Rohirrim and their horses that even mortals could feel it. The Dimholt was a name of death to these men. As the Rangers were dismounting, the King's Company came to the precipice.

"We leave at first light," said Aragorn.

Elladan and Elrohir, however, were focused on the King's Knights. Lady Éowyn was among the men, which was strange to them, but stranger still was that Lothiriel rode beside her. They talked as if they were friends and as if Lothiriel had been given permission to come to Dunharrow for she rode without disguise and on the flank of the Riders.

Legolas also noticed her. He was confused by her presence, as she had succumbed easily to the will of her Lords early that morning. Still, he was glad to see her again. Each time that he left her, he feared it would be the last time he saw her. She had become very special to him, and in his heart, Legolas knew she was much more to him than only special. But, his mind warned him against this and always the words of Galadriel returned to him.

_"What you heard calling you in a Teleri voice is only but a fraction of the torment she must feel. Do not hinder another's journey for their pain will become your guilt. … For the Eldar, life is one long journey to the shore."_

Though he had heard the sea in Lothiriel's voice, and Mithrandir insisted most of his years would be spent in Valinor, Legolas did not see it that way. If he survived the war, he would return to Mirkwood and serve his father once more. When he returned, he would be known as one of the Nine Walkers. Finally, he could prove himself as a worthy Prince. The sea was not a question. It was to trees he would return.

"Lady Lothiriel!" Merry said. He had been relived of duty until dinner and came to find his friends. "I did not expect you here."

"But you are not unwelcome, as the hobbit's words seem to imply," Gimli added.

"Well, Lothiriel," smiled Elrohir, "I see you have managed to trick another into brining you farther on this journey."

The two brothers approached the Lady, the dwarf, and the hobbit. After seeing Merry and Gimli, the twin elves switched from Sindarin to the Common Speech, out of courtesy to the hobbit and dwarf. Lothiriel turned from brushing Aerlinn.

"I will have you know that I was _ordered_ to ride to Dunharrow."

"By whom?" Elladan demanded, "Away from our father, we are your Elven-lords."

"Théoden King asked that I ride with him," the sea-elf answered, "I would not deny a King so kindly as Théoden. He wanted to speak with me."

"About what?"

"He sees wisdom in my riding with the Rohirrim as a healer."

The sons of Elrond were not ignorant to the ways Men ordered their armies. If Lothiriel were permitted to be a healer for Rohan, she would be brought into battle at the back of the army. At the time of the charge, the healers would set up camp where the wounded may return. Already, the rumor was going through Dunharrow that this battle was without victory. And if victory should be attained, all would perish to earn it.

"No," said Elladan, "You stay here."

Lothiriel began to protest, but Elrohir cut her off.

"Théoden does not know what he asks. Your immortal life is too precious to waste. Your Elven-lords have spoken and you will obey."

All of this Éowyn watched with growing anger. Even as she fought with her uncle to allow her to fight, she knew that it was foolish to allow many women to do the same. But Lothiriel did not wish to fight. She wanted only to care for those whom she loved. While this was not Eowyn's ideal career, she recognize the valor and strength it must take to hold the hand of one who is dying, to be their last comfort in this world.

Finally, Lothiriel turned from her Elven-lords to seek out the elf Legolas. It seemed to Éowyn that all three of the elves remained impassive as they spoke. She wondered about this for Lothiriel's words said that she was passionate about healing, but her voice and face remained distant. However, Legolas had also watched the discussion. He saw Lothiriel's frustration. He saw also Elladan and Elrohir's fear that she would be hurt and their anger that Théoden had not kept her at Edoras.

Éowyn thought that surely Aragorn would allow Lothiriel ride with the Rohirrim. He was a noble man and fair in judgment. He had denied her plea to fight at Helm's Deep, but he was only bending to the will of Théoden. In the morning, she would beseech him to allow her to ride in his company. If he did, she would then speak on behalf of Lothiriel.

* * *

The two elves stood in silence on the edge of the cliff. There were no trees to walk through, and the Shadow from the East veiled the stars. Below the cliff face, the Rohirrim cavalry was gathered. Behind the elves, many tents were raised for the royal house and Knights of the King. To the back, closest to the Door in the Mountain were the Gray Company.

"Will you follow Estel?"

"I have sworn to him that I will go wherever he goes," Legolas answered.

Lothiriel was silent for a moment. Her eyes fell from Legolas to the rocky ground beneath her feet.

"I wish you would not. I feel evil in the very rock surrounding us. The mountain warns that we should not approach. And yet, Estel goes to the very heart of the evil! And Elladan and Elrohir go with him!"

Legolas was disquieted by her words. He thought he knew what she would say next, and he dreaded hearing it.

"Why? Why does he do this? Arwen waits for him, but he goes willingly to death! And why do you follow? He cannot hold you to an oath made long before you knew your road would lead to death."

"Then what purpose is an oath? I do not fear the ghosts of Men. Why do you loose faith?"

"Because they do not fear you," returned Lothiriel.

There was silence between them for a long while. Lothiriel thought of Valinor, where even in this dark hour, there was light and peace. She imagined the Teleri building ships, not for voyages, but for love of the craft. She sang a song in very old Quenya that Círdan had taught her when she was a small elfling.

Legolas did not understand this ancient language, but Lothiriel's voice was slow and sorrowful, like the sea. A vision came to him of a place he would never see. The Gray Havens at sunset. Elves were gathered for a feast in their white houses built among the cliff faces of Mithlond. Gray ships bobbed in the harbor, waiting for more elves to sail Home. The sound of the sea filled Legolas's ears until he no longer heard Lothiriel's song, but only a faint call amid crashing waves.

Then, her song ceased, and Legolas was stunned back into the moment. Instead of the gray, churning sea, now there was only mountains and plains below. For the first time, Legolas felt truly cheated and he wondered; was it wrong for a wood-elf to long for Valinor? The voice of Lady Galadriel came into his mind once again.

_Legolas Greenleaf long under tree_

_In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea!_

_If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,_

_Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more._

Sorrow was in Legolas's blue eyes as he looked at Lothiriel. "I must go for I have sworn an oath both to Aragorn and to myself. I am not an elf who may foresee the future, but I perceive that my fate is tied to the other side of this mountain. Whatever may be there, I hear it call to me."

Tears spilled from Lothiriel's eyes. "I know the pain of being called. I will not hinder you further."

Legolas smoothed away the hair from her face tenderly and tilted her chin so that she looked at him. Her eyes were green, like the forest, but never had she belonged to the trees as he had. She was a sea-elf and the water had called to her since her birth. Seven hundred years she had fought that calling.

"I will return. Do not doubt it," he whispered.

"For if I hope for less, that is what I will receive." But her voice held no real hope.


	8. Wisdom in the Dark

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Seven**

"**Wisdom in the Dark"**

The Gray Company had passed through the Door in the Mountain, and the last of the Rohirrim had assembled at Dunharrow. All the King's Knights were fitted with armor, the horses were saddled, and the camp was disassembled. Among the chaos were Éowyn and Lothiriel, but neither were where they should have been.

The women of the court were to return to Edoras, and Lothiriel was going with them. Théoden was not pleased by the news that the elf could not be his healer, but he respected the decision of the Princes of Imladris. All the women were gathered as the King's Knights slowly wound their way down the cliff face. But Éowyn was nowhere to be found.

Aerlinn stamped and snorted. He seemed to know something, but would not tell Lothiriel. He was anxious to be gone, lest his mistress learn his secret and do something foolish.

"Let us search one more time," said Lothiriel.

The women and their guards agreed. In Théoden and Éomer's stead, Éowyn was their ruler, and it would not do to return to Meduseld without her.

Lothiriel's first instinct was to look again by the Door in the Mountain. She was afraid of that place, but she went there anyhow. Early that morning, even before dawn, the Gray Company had gone. Lothiriel and Éowyn had gone out together to say farewell, or so Lothiriel thought. She said her good-bye to Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir, and finally Legolas. She willed herself to believe it was not their final parting.

As she turned from Legolas, the sight before her brought sorrow into Lothiriel's heart. Noble and valiant Éowyn was sunk down on her knees with tears staining her cheeks as she begged Aragorn to allow her to ride with them. The Lady looked for death. Estel was not a cruel man nor bigoted. He refused Éowyn's plea for another reason. Lothiriel saw that Éowyn loved Aragorn, or rather; she loved the idea of Aragorn. The elf nearly cried herself for her new friend. Aragorn had no love for her because his love of Arwen consumed all he had to give. Around his neck hung the Evenstar, and even as Éowyn pleaded with him, he touched it unconsciously.

"If I cannot protect the Rohirrim in their battle, and if these Rangers, my Lords, and my new friends are lost to me, then it is this woman I will protect," thought Lothiriel.

Every elf has a calling, and if they do not fulfill that calling the years become tiresome, and they loose the will to live. For Lothiriel, healing was her calling. She lost faith when there was no one to heal. She feared that this would be one of those times. Now, she saw that her words in Rivendell had come true; there would always be a need for a healer. Though, Éowyn's hurts would not need herbs or draughts.

The Lady was not at the Door in the Mountain. All the tents had been removed from the encampment. There was nowhere for Éowyn to be that she could not been seen. In the very moment that thought entered Lothiriel's mind, another accompanied it. The elf ran to the precipice. The last of the King's Knights were entering the plains below where the rest of the cavalry waited for their King. With her elf eyes Lothiriel saw what she sought. A Knight at the back if the King's Company, slight in stature with a hobbit sitting before him.

"Aerlinn!" Lothiriel called.

The horse came dutifully, though he guessed Lothiriel had planned to do just what he hoped she would not. Lothiriel swung onto his back and guided him to the path leading down the mountain.

"We must find Éowyn," Lothiriel said, to the steed.

Aerlinn snorted at her, but continued walking. He was not at all pleased with her decision, but being bound with a bridle and bit, there was nothing he could do.

Lothiriel appeared at the foot of the path just as the Company of Healers were riding out. The chief healer, a woman called Gwyn, waved to her.

"Lady Lothiriel!" she cried, "You've come! We heard a rumor that you might ride with us! The Rohirrim will benefit greatly from this. But, we must hurry! Already we fall behind."

Lothiriel was very fortunate with this bit of luck for if the healer, Gwyn, would not have ushered her into the Company of healers, Lothiriel would have been found out. She wore no disguise as Éowyn did, only her gray riding dress, gray elven cloak, and her sword at her hip. As ordered by Théoden, she was to return to Edoras, and any of his Knights would have escorted her back to follow his King's command.

* * *

The Sea.

The elves abroad the black Corsairs ships were drawn to the sea, yet it was out of sight. Elladan and Elrohir had often been to the sea. The sea longing was not new to them, but still painful. Legolas, however, looked towards the ocean for the first time.

The gray waters of the Anduin churned and splashed against the stern where he stood. Waves rose and fell in constant torment. Each new sound of the ocean pierced at his soul until he was to the point of tears. His mind swirled like the waters crashing on the bow. His heart rose and fell like the far off waves. And his soul longed.

He did not want to travel to Gondor or Rohan or Mirkwood. He wanted to turn the ship West. The water welcomed him and beckoned him home. Not just any home waited for him. The true home of all elves, the waters in the Bay of Eldamar, were waiting.

But, the Corsair ships sailed away from the sea, north to Minas Tirith. Legolas had thought traveling by land so close to the sea was difficult, but standing aboard a ship with sea longing in his heart was far worse. At Pelargir, he had heard the first gull cry. Far above, a lone seagull searching for its companions gave a shrill shriek. Thranduil's premonition so many months before had finally come true. His son's heart belonged to the sea.

The wood-elf was assailed with visions. Thousands of Teleri were gathered in the Bay. The elves sang joyful songs while they shaped wood and hammered nails. The ellyth sang along with them as they prepared a feast on the shore. Many more thousands of elves waited beyond. In Valmar, the Vanyar dressed in blue sat in their libraries, compiling history and writing songs. In Tirion, the Noldor worked in their forges, creating items of such beauty even Aulë was in awe.

"Legolas?" Gimli asked, timidly.

It was not a dwarf's way to be timid about anything, but Gimli perceived that something was the matter with his new friend. Legolas did not move, despite the rocking of the ship. His blue eyes were unseeing, though he stared into the West. He thought the elf was crying, but the dwarf refused to truly believe such a thing. Of course, he thought elves were a little prissy, but Legolas was a valiant warrior.

"Legolas?" he asked again.

When Gimli said dwarves hate the sea, he spoke truly. He sat in the center of the giant black ship, clutching anything that was anchored to the deck. When his concern for his friend was great enough, Gimli braved the risk and released the mast, which he had been 'hugging.' He dared to cross the deck even to the very side of the ship. He slipped and slid many times on his way to the bow. His fear was not as great as in the Paths of the Dead, but it was close. Concern for Legolas drove him on, however.

"It is the sea-longing," Aragorn said, as Gimli slid past him.

The dwarf, who was looking for any reason to rest for a moment, quickly attached himself to the bench Aragorn sat on. Aragorn had worried for his elven friends ever since he made the decision to seek the Stone of Erech. He wished no hurt to Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas, but far greater hurt would come to the world if Aragorn did not summon the Army of the Dead.

It was for Legolas he most worried. Elladan and Elrohir knew the sea longing. It had been with them since they first visited Mithlond, two thousand years earlier. Legolas alone did not memorize Lady Galadriel's words. Aragorn was acutely aware of what his decision would mean to his wood-elf friend. Never again could Legolas rest in Middle-earth. If he returned to Mirkwood, all his valiant deeds would be overlooked by Thranduil for Legolas now longed for what the High-elves longed for; Valinor.

Aragorn sighed deeply, "I should not have let him come."

"He would not have stayed behind. He is stubborn for an elf," Gimli said proudly, as if it were a very honorable trait.

Aragorn looked at the ship crewed by Elladan and Elrohir. The twins bravely battled their will to stare into the sea. It was a battle Legolas was not fit to fight just yet.

"He looked like this the morning we rode into the Mountain," said Gimli, "I asked him what was wrong."

"What did he say?" Aragorn asked, now intrigued.

"He said this; 'It is hard to hear the voice of a Teleri, yet so beautiful to behold.' I did not understand what he meant, but perhaps you will."

"I have heard a Teleri voice. It seemed to me that I heard the sea. Perhaps that is what he means, but it is not wise for a man or a dwarf to attempt to comprehend the mind of an elf. It is hopeless."

Gimli almost protested, but shrugged instead. "I'll trust you. You're in love with one, you should know."

Aragorn laughed, "It is not Arwen's elvish mind I do not understand. It is her female mind."

Gimli laughed heartily and agreed. He did not understand the minds of dwarvish females. The two friends grew solemn again. They were not far now from Pelennor Fields. Legolas had to be in a condition to fight.

"I will speak with him," said Aragorn, standing.

Gimli nodded. Aragorn had a better understanding of elves. The only analogy Gimli could think of to understand Legolas's longing was a dwarf loosing his mountain horde to a dragon, but he knew even that dulled in comparison to the pain in Legolas's eyes.

"Turn your eyes from the sea," Aragorn said, quietly, "It will be easier to bear."

It was perhaps the Sindarin language that woke Legolas from his reverie or Aragorn's healing nature. The elf struggled for a moment, but finally, he look to the North. The world looked different to Legolas. Middle-earth was still a place to protect and explore, but it was not his home.

The battle was coming swiftly. It appeared that the siege of Minas Tirith had already begun. The Gray Company and the Army of the Dead would not come a moment too late. They would be thrust into the very heart of the battle, but the Dead were an unstoppable force. The men, elves, and dwarf would not be without their enemies, however, for the Witch-king had been ordered to send forth his full strength to defeat Gondor.

"Are you ready to lose our game?" Gimli asked, fingering his axe.

Legolas smiled impishly, "Are you?"

* * *

Tears nearly escaped Lothiriel's eyes at the scene before her. The city of Minas Tirith was besieged, as she knew it would be. The city was a half-circle, carved from the white face of Mount Mindolluin. Stretching in front of the city was Pelennor Field, and it was full of the minions of evil. She estimated nearly one hundred thousand Orcs, Uruk-hai, goblin men, trolls, and evil men stood between the Rohan cavalry and victory.

She understood why she had been ordered her to stay at Dunharrow. Even for her love of Éowyn, Lothiriel did not want to face this. A deadlier thought entered her mind. None of these Riders of Rohan would survive to need her care. She shuddered at the thought, but something else was revealed to her then. She had never considered what defeat in the War of the Ring meant. That consequence was tangible before her eyes. She regretted her words of caution to Legolas. Of course, Estel knew what must be risked and sacrificed.

"Lady Lothiriel," Gwyn said, her voice shaking, "We stay and set up a hospital here while the Riders fight."

It did not seem to be a good idea to stay in any one place permanently. No healer dismounted his or her horse. The male healers spurred their horses forward, falling into line with the back of the army. Gwyn unsheathed her sword as did the other women healers, but they did not move forward. Women of Rohan were trained to fight because their settlements were scattered across the open plain. Fear overtook Lothiriel as she saw the hopelessness of her situation. Elladan and Elrohir had not the time to give her any further lessons in swordplay. She could only block a swing.

"Prepare yourselves," said Gwyn.

Her voice was lost amid the thundering of horse hooves as the Rohirrim charged the lines of Mordor. Somewhere in the mass of horses and riders were Éowyn and Merry. Lothiriel had searched for them at every encampment, but had been unable to find the Lady and hobbit. She wondered now why she ever thought she could protect Éowyn in this battle. More likely, Éowyn could protect her.

Lothiriel's elven senses were run amuck with all the stimulation in front of her, but she felt acute danger behind her. Amid the sounds of clashing metal, beating hooves, battering rams, trebuchets, and whizzing arrows, she heard something undistinguishable. It was one of those sounds that Lothiriel thought she should know. Frustrated that her senses were not honed enough to pinpoint this rumbling, Lothiriel turned her eyes from the battle raging before her.

The rumbling belonged to the biggest creature in Middle-earth. Charging the Rohirrim, as they had just charged the Orcs, were the Haradrim on mûmakil. Lothiriel counted twelve of the giant creatures, but she guessed there were more. She looked from the battle before her to the Haradrim behind her. The Southrons were still several leagues off, visibly to only elven-sight, but that distance was petty to a creature of such size.

"Ai! Elbereth save us!" cried Lothiriel, "The Haradrim have come!"

The women healers did not question her. Nor did they need to be told the Haradrim rode into war on oliphants.

"Ride!" cried Gwyn, "For death and glory!"

This was not inspiration for an elf, but being left alone to face a mûmakil was more terrifying than facing an Orc, so Lothiriel told Aerlinn to follow the healers' horses. An ounce of courage was granted to her when she thought of her fëa safe in the Halls of Mandos. But it was a small cornel of faith against certain and painful death. If she were captured, life would continue on for Lothiriel in the form of a thrall or an Orc.

Lothiriel looked back once more. The Haradrim were still half a league off from the battle. As she neared the battle, she took note that the Orcs and Uruk-hai were no longer defending their position from the Rohirrim. In fact, they were fleeing. For a moment she thought to be glad, but the creatures were only regrouping behind the Haradrim.

If the Rohirrim around her notice the daunted unarmored elf, they said nothing. They saw all their healers now in battle with swords unsheathed. The Haradrim sounded their exotic horns and a new charge began. This time it would be the Rohirrim who were trampled in the charge. They dutifully reformed the lines, facing once again death as they had vowed to do.

But there was no hope on the battlefield. Théoden King had been thrown from Snowmane by the talons of the Witch-king's fell beast. The evil and darkness emanating from the Lord of the Nazgûl was thick in the air. Lothiriel had felt his presence before. In Rivendell, the entire valley trembled at his approach, but then she had been safely protected by the Bruinen, Glorfindel, and if need be, an army of elves. She had felt his piercing sting when she removed the shard of his sword from Frodo's shoulder. Now, Lothiriel was alone, dressed in only her gray riding cloak with one sword at her hip that she did not know how to use. She checked Aerlinn, unwilling to ride farther.

Lothiriel looked everywhere for safety, but it was futile. She was on a battlefield. She was not safe until she was dead. Her eyes were again drawn to the Witch-king and she trembled. Evil he was, but intelligent and cunning. Surely he felt her elvish blood. Did he know it was because of she that the halfling still lived? She nearly turned Aerlinn from the scene, daring rather to charge the mûmakil with the Rohirrim than face whatever end she would find in the hands of the Witch-king.

But a new sight caught her eyes. Standing tall amid the wreckage of the fell beast and the terror of the Witch-king was a single soldier of Rohan. He was slight of build, but armored well. Then, he removed his helm.

"Éowyn!" Lothiriel cried, but the Lady of Rohan couldn't have heard her.

Without a thought of the danger of the Witch-king, or the mûmakil, or the returning Uruk-hai, Lothiriel unsheathed her sword and urged Aerlinn forward. The horse delayed, signaling his warning not to do this foolish deed. Elvish horses do not disobey their masters, and Aerlinn had come to love his new rider. When Lothiriel ordered him forward again, this time with a swift kick in the flank, he obeyed.

Aerlinn was a wise horse, and he knew Lothiriel had been lucky so far not to engage any enemies. But her luck would not last. He rode always towards Éowyn, but taking many detours to keep himself and his rider as far from enemies as possible.

Many Orcs fled from the horse and rider. Lothiriel was lit with an elvish light and her eyes were filled with determined fire. She held the sword high, and they were afraid of elvish blades. If Orcs were smarter creatures, they would have noticed that she slashed wildly at the air without the skill and grace of her kind. But, they were so fearful of the radiance of her face and in her eyes that they fled without looking back. There were some, however, who were not so craven. The Uruk-hai felt no fear and it was from them that Aerlinn ran, but he was not a perfect horse.

Lothiriel barely noticed the Uruk-hai to her right flank. Her elvish senses merely told her danger was approaching. She brought down her sword. She checked Aerlinn and turned to the sight behind her. Lying face up in the dirt was an Uruk-hai; a slash ran across his left shoulder and deep into his chest. Lothiriel's eyes drifted to the sword held loosely in her grasp. It was a famous sword among the elves, and its history was written in gold script along the silver blade. But now, those letters were stained black with the blood of an Uruk-hai.

Lothiriel Morning-Flower, healer of Rivendell, had broken her oath. She had sworn to uphold life, to aid any in need regardless of prejudice. Evil though this creature was, it had lived and breathed and once been an elf. Hot tears stung Lothiriel's eyes. As a healer, she was not immune to death. It was all around her, but never was she the cause of it. Often, she reversed the process. Many elves walking Middle-earth and Valinor alike had Lothiriel to thank for preserving their immortal years. But now, her hands were stained with death.

Lothiriel would have sat in the midst of the battlefield in a daze all day, but her attention was drawn from the dead creature to the Witch-king. A terrible shriek filled the air. It was much like a Nazgûl scream, but more high-pitched and full of anguish. The Witch-king cried for the "Precious" one last time before a shield maiden of Rohan defeated his spirit. The forces of Dark quaked with their leader gone and began their long retreat to Mordor, but they would not go far before they were rooted out and destroyed.

Lothiriel urged Aerlinn to ride to Éowyn. Beside her was Théoden; his death had come swiftly as Snowmane rolled onto his master. Merry the hobbit was not far away, but his wounds were not so urgent. Éowyn's arm was broken, but more serious was the Black Breath that invaded her mind. Lothiriel had healed hurts caused by the Witch-king before, and she knew she could now. But, it was not her place to heal Éowyn.

* * *

A young Haradrim boy turned from his place atop the last standing mûmakil. The Army of the Dead was coming. Soon, he would join his forefathers in the place where men's spirits go after death. But fear of Sauron drove him to fight to the last, even firing bolts into the Dead Army, though they could not be hurt. But now, he saw one more target within his range. The leader of his army, the Witch-king, lay broken in a ring of destruction. Sitting atop a white horse was a female, wearing gray with loose blonde hair. She glowed with an unnatural light, but the young Haradrim had never seen an elf. He did not know this female was meant to be immortal. If he had, he would have lowered his bow for this young man was not evil, only in fear of the Dark Lord. But alas, he fired a bolt from his cruel crossbow. And Lothiriel Morning-Flower slumped on the battlefield and fell limply onto Aerlinn's neck.

Justice was dealt as the sharp sting of an arrowhead pierced the boy's shoulder. The wind was knocked from him, and he fell to his knees. Beside him, his comrades fell without any notion of where the arrows came from. As the platform slipped from the mûmakil's back, the boy saw a glorious warrior with flowing silver hair and a strong stature standing atop the creature's back. When he slipped from consciousness it was with a prayer for forgiveness and mercy.

* * *

The battle was over and Minas Tirith was safe. Aragorn had kept his promise to Boromir for this battle, but Sauron would attack again. He stood amid the wreckage of Pelennor Fields and looked up at the Tower of Ecthelion. It truly looked like a spike of pearl and its banners were caught high in a morning breeze. Boromir would be happy, Aragorn thought.

A grumpy wizard interrupted his thoughts. Gandalf entered the camp of the Gray Company. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, and he was not without battle wounds, but that was not Gandalf's reason for seeking out Aragorn. The wizard noted the safety of his friends; Gimli and Legolas argued over how many "points" the mûmakil was worth, Elladan and Elrohir healed the wounded Rangers, Éomer was seen in the distance searching the battle field, and Aragorn stood transfixed by Minas Tirith.

"How did your noble Rangers fare?" asked Gandalf.

"There are fewer of us left than what left the North," answered Aragorn.

"The heir of Elendil has been returned just in time," the wizard said, "For the blood of Númenor runs truly through but a few. And the hands of the King are the hands of a healer. You are needed in the Houses of Healing, Aragorn. Grievous hurts have been caused this day. The healers of Gondor have not the skill to bring back those who have been touched by the Black Breath."


	9. Elvish Dreams

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Eight**

"**Elvish Dreams"**

Elladan and Elrohir exited the tent set up for healing. Of the thirty Rangers to ride to Aragorn's aid, only twenty-seven remained. Three was not such a large loss in terms of numbers, but the three were dear friends to their fellow Rangers. Aragorn was still in Minas Tirith healing those under the Black Breath. Legolas and Gimli had finally ceased their arguing and had cooked supper for their Company.

The brothers sat down with the new friends, exhausted from the battle and their work in healing. Eight Rangers lay in healing, but none bore fatal wounds. The most serious was a blow across the abdomen by a sword, fortunately not poisoned. The elf and dwarf handed them food and ale. Elladan searched his pockets.

"Where is the miruvor?" he asked.

"We gave it to Lothiriel," Elrohir answered.

Elladan gave up his search and turned to his meal. Across the battlefield, a stray horse fought against his captors. The Rohirrim had collected all the horses whose riders had fallen, but this one horse would not allow himself to be led away. He neighed, stomped, and even kicked one man who came too close.

"What horse would shy from the Rohirrim?" Gimli asked, peering into the darkness.

The elves looked in that direction also and were silent for a moment. The horse was protecting his rider, who was slumped forward, lifeless, with a crossbow bolt protruding from the back and chest. In unison, the three elves abandoned their supper and campfire.

"Aerlinn!" they cried, running for the horse.

At their coming, the brothers spoke soft elvish to Aerlinn, to calm him. Elvish horses do not abandon their masters, but that did not mean Lothiriel was not dead. An arrow entered her back and protruded from her chest. The clavicle bone, snapped in half, also had torn through her flesh. Both legs her cut deeply with many swords. Her riding gown was soaked through with blood, and the smell of Orc poison was on her flesh.

"She is not dead," Elladan said, "Quickly, the poison has done much damage already."

The twins hurried back to the healing tent, laid Lothiriel down on a cot, and removed her riding gown. They inspected her wounds silently. She was not as badly injured as the amount of blood on her gown would have suggested, but the poison did not need long to work its evil.

"Legolas, fetch us water, warm if you can find it, and towels," Elrohir said, thinking to keep the elf busy.

The wood-elf did not question his duty. He left the tent immediately to find warm water. Inside the tent, Elladan and Elrohir put all their effort into saving their sister's dearest friend. Aerlinn kept Lothiriel as safe as a horse could keep his rider. The wounds on her right leg and across her abdomen were both deep and poisoned, but all other cuts were minor. There was also the crossbow bolt to contend with. It had gone clear through the elf's body and snapped her clavicle in half on its way. She was fortunate, however, for if the arrow were but a little lower, it would have punctured her lung or heart.

Legolas entered a moment later with a basin of water. "This is warm, and there is more heating over the fire."

He stayed two paces away from the cot where Lothiriel lay, close enough to see what was happening, but far enough away to not hinder the twins' work. Normally, they would have ordered Legolas to leave, but Aragorn had not yet returned from the city, and they would need a third pair of hands later.

"May I take a moment for a bit of humor and irony?" asked Elladan.

He concentrated still on cleansing Lothiriel's leg and stomach while Elrohir set her broken clavicle. The younger merely nodded.

"The only wound which Lothiriel herself has never healed is a broken clavicle."

Elladan looked up for the briefest moment. The twins smiled at each other, then continued with their work. Elrohir made a mental note to point that out to Lothiriel when she woke. Legolas did not find this the proper time for humor, but he bit his tongue. There was no use in scolding the healers. It would only make them work slower. He paced to and fro as night wore into morning.

"I need a hair," Elladan announced, "I'm ready to close her wounds."

Elrohir blinked at his brother, "So do I."

They looked at each other's hands holding closed Lothiriel's skin, wondering which wound should be allowed to open again and which should not. Legolas ended the silent contemplation by handing them both a stitching needle with a strand of his own hair tied to each. Healers among the elves used a strand of elven hair to close wounds, which was both finer and stronger than string or thread.

"Hold the wound closed while I stitch, Legolas."

He did as Elrohir instructed, gently placing his hands over Lothiriel's breastbone. Elladan could sew Lothiriel's leg would without aid, but he would need Legolas's help for her abdominal wound. When the brothers were nearly finished, Aragorn and Gandalf entered the tent, having been directed by Gimli.

"What happened?" asked Aragorn, as he knelt next to the elves, "Why is she here?"

"From what we can gather, she was struck by the bolt near the end of the battle. Aerlinn kept her as safe as he could, carrying her away from the remaining enemies. The cuts on her legs and stomach came from the retreat. Orcs tried to dismount her, I care not to think for what purpose," Elladan answered, "As for why she is here, we do not know. Another hair, Legolas."

The wood-elf dutifully plucked out another strand. Elrohir finished the intricate and difficult job of closing her chest wound, but there was still the entry wound on her back to close. Gandalf left just as the sun began to rise, but the three healers and Legolas continued to work. When all of Lothiriel's wounds were closed, nearly every herb in Elrohir's saddlebag had been used, Legolas had given a total of seven strands of hair to the brothers, and the sun was high in the morning sky.

"Will she be in pain when she wakes?" Legolas asked.

"Nay, we will give her miruvor," Elladan said, holding up a flask, "I found this in her pack. Apparently, she has acclimated to life in the wild for most of the liquor is still left."

"We are going to the council with Aragorn and Éomer," Elrohir said, "Will you and Gimli come along?"

Legolas shook his head, "I am no great Lord, and I would not leave Lothiriel to wake alone."

The twins left without further words. They did not have the heart to tell Legolas that Lothiriel would not wake that day nor perhaps for many days after. The Orc poison had worked in her for many hours before Aerlinn found them. She was entangled in a web of elvish dreams that she could not be easily drawn out of.

"He won't leave her, will he?" Gimli asked.

"No, he will not," Elladan answered, "But you may come with us to the council, son of Glóin."

Gimli sighed, and looked at the healing tent. He did not want to sit through another council nor did he want to sit in a healing tent. He decided the latter was more appealing, but told the elves his opinion on what should be done.

"Face your enemies head on! That is the dwarves' way!"

* * *

Legolas leaned over Lothiriel's sleeping form. Her eyes were closed, and he wondered why that was. He doubted that she slept in the mortal way. He held her delicate hand in his and watched her chest rise and fall. With his other hand, he smoothed out the errant strands of hair lying on her forehead. He wondered what she dreamed of, what had possessed her to come to Gondor, and what had befallen her on the battlefield.

Legolas closed his eyes and placed both of his hands on Lothiriel's forehead. He had never entered another's dreamscape before, but he never had need to. He felt Lothiriel's mind open to him and welcome his presence.

_Lothiriel laid on her back in the tall, cool grass. The trees were whispering and the warm tributary of the Bruinen flowed loudly beside the glade. It was summertime in Rivendell, several hundred years before many of the elves of that city began passing into the West. Lady Celebrían had not yet met her painful fate and still resided in the Last Homely House. _

_Lothiriel's green eyes looked back, to where Legolas stood over her. She was dressed in a gown of green to match her eyes and the leaves of the trees. A crown of white flowers was in her hair and she held a tulip in her hand. _

_"Mae govannen, Legolas," she said, "come sit with me."_

_"How is it that I have entered your dream so easily? I have never practiced this skill."_

_He eased himself onto the lush grass as Lothiriel requested. Lothiriel rose from her place on the ground, but her body had left no imprint in the grass. She sat on her knees, eye level with Legolas. _

_"There is only one way that this may be. In your heart, you must know how you came here. I heard you call and I accepted. You wished to see me in summertime, so I brought you here."_

_"It is that easy?" he asked, skeptically._

_Lothiriel smiled gently, "No, it is not. I do not think it is my place to tell you the secret. You must discover it on your own. Perhaps, though, Aragorn or Gandalf will tell you."_

_Legolas sensed that he did not have much time left with Lothiriel. He did not want to press the matter when it would only waste their precious time together._

_"You do look like a wood-elf," he answered, "I thought you would in summertime."_

_Lothiriel looked deeply into his eyes before she answered. She saw the new sea longing in him. "Are you still a wood-elf?"_

_"No, I am not. I am Sindarin in thought and desire. Could you accept a gray-elf?"_

_"Oh, my Prince," she said, cupping his face gently, "I accepted a Silvan elf."_

_They leaned into each other with comfort. Their kiss was long and deep, more telling than a conversation of a thousand words. _

Legolas was startled from the dreamscape as a hand roughly shook his shoulder. His eyes focused on Gimli, standing beside him. They were eye level for the first time, as Legolas sat and Gimli stood.

"What?" the elf snapped.

Gimli growled under his breath, "You've been sitting still all day. I was worried. And besides, Lady Lothiriel is awake."

Legolas turned back to the sea-elf with surprise. Gimli slipped from the tent, seeing the need for privacy. It was only moments ago that her dream had taken him back to Rivendell, far back before they met. Her smile was sleepy and her eyes were pained, but they were open.

"You called," she said, in slow Sindarin.

"Did I?" asked Legolas, "I guess I did. Do you remember your dream?"

She nodded, "Don't you remember yours?"

It was such an innocent question; Legolas could not help but laugh. Whatever had happened to her since they parted at Dunharrow had not killed the spark in her spirit. Her eyes were wiser, but no less curious.

"Do you need some miruvor?"

Lothiriel gasped, "That is the best word I have heard since Lady Éowyn said 'bed' in Edoras." A sudden panic crossed her face. "Éowyn! Éowyn was hurt by the Witch-king!"

She tried to sit up, but found a sharp pain issued from her left shoulder. She fell back onto the cot, her eyes glazed in pain. Legolas helped her into a position of comfort, and then gave her a drink of the miruvor. He saw need to ration the drink, as he was not sure any product made by men would ease the pain of an elf.

"Éowyn is fine, Lothiriel. She was found on the battlefield. Aragorn has seen to her hurts. Merry the hobbit was also found and cared for by Aragorn."

Lothiriel was relieved to hear this. The last thing she remembered was seeing Éowyn and Merry lying prone on the ground. "Legolas, what happened to me?"

Legolas told about her injuries and all the events he knew of that took place after the arrow hit her. Lothiriel nodded during all of this, but said that she remembered nothing. Legolas was glad for this because that meant she remembered very little pain.

"I desire no longer to ride into battle," Lothiriel admitted, "I was foolish to make such a statement before I ever imagined what war is like. Even more foolish was to assume I would not have to kill." Her eyes became haunted. "I always thought Aragorn to be a bit hypocritical. A warrior and healer, but I see now it is not so. There is sometimes need for war and for defense."

Legolas also was troubled by her words. "If you killed an enemy, it was in self-defense. Do not think it was otherwise. The first kill is always traumatic. You are not alone in your desire. My brother Faelon spent nearly a month trying to convince me that killing a giant spider was better than allowing that spider to kill me. There is some wisdom in that logic."

Lothiriel nodded, but tears slipped from her eyes. "I killed an Uruk-hai. Afterwards, I thought of the time I swore to always protect life. I do not know if I was foolish then or foolish now, but I wish I had not been part in any creature's death."

Legolas cradled her in his strong arms, gently soothing away her tears with a soft Silvan song.

She sniffled, but smiled just a bit. "You'll have to teach me that one too."

He laughed, "I will. I will teach you all the Silvan songs I know, but you will have to sing them for me. I fear the sound of your voice is the closest I can allow myself to venture towards the sea for a long while."

Lothiriel agreed, "We have many years ahead of us, and I would take you to Mithlond sometime to see my childhood home."

Legolas sighed deeply, "And I would love for you to see my home in Mirkwood. But, this war is not at its end yet." Lothiriel paled, but said nothing. "The Lords are meeting to decide what is to be done to help Frodo destroy Sauron."

As if on cue, a Ranger entered the tent. He started slightly to see Lothiriel awake. The sons of Elrond had reported that nothing within their skill could wake her. Aragorn was not questioned on his ability to bring Lothiriel from her dreams. It was common knowledge that mortal men could not invade the sleep of an elf. Not even Aragorn and Arwen could enter each other's dreams before Arwen chose a mortal life.

"Lord Legolas, Aragorn requests your presence."

After the Ranger left, Legolas turned to Lothiriel, unsure of what to say. He did not need to speak, however, for Lothiriel had words of her own.

"Estel has become the Elessar as it was foretold. He will go to war in Mordor, to the very place our kin fought with Sauron in the last age. And you will go with him because you have sworn it."

Legolas's eyes were troubled, as they had been in Dunharrow the night before the Gray Company left for the Paths of the Dead. He worried over a new thought now. Much had changed since that night only a week before. He had heard the cry of the gulls at Pelargir, Lothiriel had been returned to him once more, and Valinor waited beyond the western sea.

Lothiriel touched his cheek softly with the tips of her fingers. "And you must. There is wisdom in this war. If you return, you and I will have many years together before we tire of Middle-earth. If you do not, I will find you soon in the Halls of Mandos."

* * *

Legolas looked back at Minas Tirith one last time before it disappeared from his elven-sight. The Tower of Ecthelion was covered in darkness, though it was noon. The Shadow spread once again from Mordor, though not as swift or thick as it had before the battle at Pelennor. The elf nudged Arod on once again, though reluctantly.

Lothiriel had sent him off with confident words. After the Rangers had broken camp, she had been moved into the Houses of Healing where she would be safe. Gimli had wondered aloud how long anyone in Minas Tirith would be safe. Lothiriel had only smiled softly at the dwarf.

"I am an elf, Gimli. I am always safe. By ship or grief, I will go to Valinor."

Even the dwarf had been moved by the newfound peace in her eyes. The sons of Elrond and Aragorn had stood back in awe. Lothiriel was still a child to the twins, and to Estel she was frightfully naïve of the world. But as she spoke those words to Gimli the dwarf, they had watched her blossom into her full adulthood. Legolas knew where this serenity came from. The memory of killing was a dark place in Lothiriel's mind, but she had gleamed wisdom from it.

Only Gandalf was totally unsurprised by her growth. She had been one of the elves to greet him at the Gray Havens when he first sailed to Middle-earth from Valinor. Just as Círdan had perceived that Gandalf was the greatest of the Istari, so did Gandalf note the wisdom of Lothiriel.

Legolas turned again to the east. He rode at Aragorn's right side, as they had since Éomer had given them horses on the plains of Rohan. Aragorn had changed since then. He had gained the strength of will of a King since setting out from Rivendell. Legolas wondered when this happened and how he had missed the transition.

"Aragorn," Legolas began, in quiet Sindarin, "You have said before that Arwen reached you in a dream. How is this done?"

Aragorn was surprised by the question, as Legolas was not one to probe into such intimate relationships. He did not mind telling his new friend, but his curiosity was piqued. Especially since Lothiriel had mysterious awaken days before she should have.

"They always speak in Sindarin," Gimli grumbled, "If I were to learn this elvish language, they would begin speaking Quenya. And if I learned that language, they would create a new one so I could not understand them!"

Elrohir laughed merrily, "Peace, Gimli. You do not wish to know what they speak of anyhow. I wish they would make up a new language so I would not have to hear it."

Elladan nodded, "If it were any other ellyth they talked about, I would not mind. But they are our sister and her friend."

Gimli scowled, "You're right. I'm not interested."

Aragorn gave an annoyed look to the three, but answered Legolas without regard to them any further.

"There are some, such as Lady Galadriel who may read the deepest desire of your heart. Lothiriel claims that Lord Círdan may even read your very thoughts as you think them. But there is no gift given to enter another's dream. That is given and received willingly, such as Arwen and I, by the fëa."

Legolas fell silent then and said nothing for a very long time. In all honesty, he could not say Aragorn's answer surprised him. Lothiriel had said to him that if the West fell, she would find him in the Halls of Mandos. That was not a promise to be made lightly. It was an oath of love after death, yet not exclusive to romantic love. Legolas wondered exactly what she had meant.

His fingers found the pearls lying on top of his tunic. Many times, Legolas had clutched the smooth stones. So far, the pearls had done as Lothiriel said they would. Every peril turned into unlooked for hope, and they always brought a fond memory of his sea-elf. The pearls did not clarify his questions, however, only created more.

The battle ahead was without hope. Even if Frodo cast the Ring into the fires of Mount Doom, all the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan would perish in the battle to divert Sauron's gaze. Legolas with them. It was his honor that drove him to fulfill his oath to Aragorn. He did not regret making his vow. He only wished he could see Lothiriel smile one last time.

An absurd thought entered his mind. He had wanted to see her smile again when the Fellowship left Rivendell. He had faced a balrog, a winged-Nazgûl, and killed a mûmakil single-handedly, yet his desire remained the same. This thought struck him as so hilarious, that he could not help but laugh happily. The forest of Ithilien rang with the merriment of his voice, and the trees stirred upon hearing an elven voice. Legolas began to sing the mirthful Silvan song he had taught Lothiriel so many months before in Rivendell.

"We will play our game once more, Gimli," he declared.

The dwarf smiled with fire in his eyes, "And once more I will beat you."

He was happy to see his elven friend cast off his melancholy. It did not suit Legolas well.

"The mûmakil counts as seventeen, Gimli. Sixteen Haradrim, plus the poor beast."

Their friends smiled as the argument started up once again.

"This ride to Mordor may not be as long or tiresome as I thought," said Gandalf.

* * *

"Lady Lothiriel?" Éowyn gasped, as she hurried into the room.

The elf was seated on a bed parallel to Éowyn's own bed. Her left arm was in a sling, secured to the side of her body, and her right leg was propped up on a pillow. She did not sit straight up, but leaned back to keep her abdomen from bending. There was a light in her eyes that Éowyn had not seen before. The Lady of Rohan had been able to look the elf in the eyes before, but now she could not bear the intensity of the stare.

Éowyn's shield-arm was in a sling, but otherwise the Lady seemed well. Her eyes were not as sad as they had been the morning the Gray Company departed, but neither did they show happiness. She wore a blue cloak around her shoulders made of a material and style that the Rohirrim did not weave.

"It is I, Éowyn. I am glad to see you well. The last time I saw you, the Witch-king had invaded your mind with his fowl breath."

The woman sighed, "Lord Aragorn has cured what he could. But do tell, how did you come to the battle? You were to return to Edoras."

"As were you, Dernhelm," Lothiriel said, pointedly.

She told Éowyn her tale from noticing the Lady missing to losing consciousness on the battlefield. Éowyn seemed quite impressed with the story, though she reacted less sympathetically to Lothiriel's killing of the Uruk-hai than Legolas had. She also did not seem impressed that Lothiriel had killed only one fell creature, yet sustained so many injuries.

"I did not heal even one, but it took four to cure me," the elf said, shaking her head, "Yet, my journey has not been in vain. I received through these injuries many things I need to remain in Middle-earth and fight the sea-longing."

"What are these things?" Éowyn asked, "I see a wound as nothing more than that, a wound."

Lothiriel smiled as she would smile at an elfling. "In elvish dreams, much may happen while one is unawares. Legolas entered my dreams. I did not even know he called, but I allowed him to come with me to Rivendell in the summertime. He desired to see me then more than anything else. I gave it willingly, though I did not know I did so until I woke."

Éowyn did not seem to follow any of this. Lothiriel sighed sadly. This experience would be so wonderful to share with Arwen, but her friend was far away from her. Arwen would have understood for that is how Estel claimed her heart, while Arwen was unaware of it.

"The elvish ways are strange to you, I know."

"But I see that you are changed, Lothiriel. Even a woman may understand that. You are more elven than you were when we first met. Then, you seemed to be about my own age. Now, I know that I was greatly mistaken."

Lothiriel smiled ruefully. That was a grievous insult to an elf, but Éowyn meant well. She spoke truly; Lothiriel was older.

"May I ask how old you are?"

The elf was dismayed at the question. "I do not remember. It is not the way of the Eldar to count the years after we come of age. If I were to guess … six hundred, perhaps. That is, plus or minus a few centuries."

The answer both amused and confused Éowyn. She did not know how anyone could "lose" a few centuries. A mortal did not lose even a month.

"What about Elladan and Elrohir and Legolas?" Éowyn asked.

She laughed in her mind, wondering what kind of answer Lothiriel would give. As Lothiriel thought (for a very long time, nearly giving herself a mortal headache), Éowyn became solemn again. The Lady of Rohan could not remember the last time a happy thought had entered her mind. She remembered only darkness and loss.

"Well," Lothiriel began, "The sons of Elrond are older, and they are always in adulthood in my memories. And Arwen is younger than them … perhaps, they are three thousand and five hundred years?" The elf sighed deeply. "And Legolas … is I believe … younger than I. Perhaps, five hundred?"

The elf's answer was so vague, yet so thoughtful; Éowyn could not restrain herself further. She laughed out loud for the first time since her mother's death so many long years before. Lothiriel was not offended. She often laughed at mortals who memorized the exact day, month, and year of their birth.

"I must tell Faramir of this. He will want to meet you, of course, after he hears such a funny thing."

"I would meet any friend of yours, Éowyn. But may I ask, who is Faramir? His name sounds familiar to me, as if I have heard it in passing."

Éowyn answered, "Faramir is the Steward of Gondor. He was the younger brother of Boromir, one of the Nine Companions."

Lothiriel nodded, sadly. She had heard about the fall of Boromir of Gondor. Aragorn would not say much, other than the man fought bravely, and died defending the hobbits Merry and Pippin. It was Aragorn's mention that he had "kept his honor" that made Lothiriel think he would not tell the full story. She did not press the matter. Even though she did not know the man, Lothiriel wished to believe that none of the Fellowship would have ever lost their honor. Especially not if Frodo was somehow involved.

"He has become a dear friend to me through these days. We meet in the garden. He gave me this cloak and a new title. The White Lady of Rohan," Éowyn smiled, "What a silly title."

"You seem fond of him."

"Yes." Éowyn's eyes grew distant, like she was thinking of an old memory. "He has inspired me. I wish to be a Queen no more. I think I shall tell him that. And you have inspired me also, Lothiriel. If Sauron is overthrown, and there is time, would you teach me the art of healing?"

Lothiriel was surprised by the request. She did not think the Lady of Rohan would lay down her sword anytime soon. Perhaps wisdom came in mortal dreams also.

"There will be time. I will remain in Gondor for many long years. I have already sworn it. I will teach you this art as the elves learn it. Among mortal healers, you shall be second only to Aragorn. But, I have a request to ask for you also."

"If I may fulfill it, I will," Éowyn answered.

"I have endured a tiring journey from my home and savage battle with fell creatures, yet I still cannot wield a sword."

The Lady of Rohan laughed again. "I will teach you how to use your sword, Lothiriel."

The elf and woman talked for many hours. Lothiriel revealed to Éowyn who Arwen was and that they were close friends, but the Lady did not seem affected at all by this new information. She had noticed the Evenstar and that Aragorn sometimes called the sons of Elrond "brothers." Éowyn told Lothiriel about Faramir and his contact with Frodo. Lothiriel then explained that she had cared for the hobbit in Rivendell. Their talking took many different turns until finally the healers came in and ordered them both to sleep, as if they were small children playing past their bedtime.

As they laid down to rest, they did so as friends who would share many adventures together in the future, for the West was about to prevail at the Field of Cormallon.


	10. Where the Shadows Slide

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Nine**

"**Where the Shadows Slide"**

"We best be gettin' on, Mr. Frodo."

Sam was reluctant to push Frodo to move, but it was clear that the Ring had nearly taken hold of his will. Sam was unwilling to allow Frodo to lie prone on the slopes of Mount Doom while the Ring tortured him. He felt a tugging in his mind, like a conscious that was not his own was telling him what to do. It was a gentle voice, like an elf's musical tone, and whispered bits of hobbit-sense to Sam. He didn't think any fell creatures would have an understanding of hobbit-sense, so he heeded the advice. Now, it told him there was no time to waste. If Frodo did not get to the Cracks of Doom soon, he would never get there at all.

"I've got nothing to help you along, except my shoulders and legs. I'll carry you, Mr. Frodo. If it breaks my back, I'll get you up this mountain."

As Sam stood, something he had forgotten about fell from his neck. The hobbit watched in awe as the pearl necklace of Lothiriel fell to the blackened ground of Mordor. There, even on the very face of Mountain Doom, a single white flower bloomed. Sam scooped up the necklace, wondering how he had forgotten the gift. He thought far back, to the night the Fellowship left Rivendell. Lady Lothiriel said something to him then that he did not understand. Strider had explained it to him later.

_"May the power of Ulmo be with you."_

"I hope you're right about these pearls, Lady Lothiriel," Sam said, "We need all the good fortune and beloved memory we can get."

Frodo felt his own neck for his pearl necklace. He too had forgotten about the gift. But Frodo felt only the heavy chain that the Ring hung from. The Orcs in the tower of Cirith Ungol had taken the pearls from him. When Shelob stung Frodo, and Sam had mistaken him for dead, he did not think about the pearls. His only goal was to keep the Ring safe and finish the task appointed to Frodo.

Sam knelt down by Frodo. "You've given me Sting and the Light of Galadriel. I can at least give you this. I don't know if it will ease your burden, Mr. Frodo, but I'm going to hope it will."

Frodo attempted to smile, but his lips did not move. He had no strength left. Physically and mentally, the Ring had spent him. He had only strength of will left, and that was quickly fading. Sam secured the pearls around Frodo's neck and lifted his Master onto his shoulder.

As Sam struggled up the side of Mount Doom, Frodo clutched at his neck. Before, he had held the Ring in his hand. All that he heard was the inane whispering of evil. Now, however, it was not the Ring that Frodo clutched. It was not by purpose that this happened for Frodo desperately wanted to hold the Ring. By chance or divine intervention, the Ring swung away from Frodo's hand as he felt for it. Frodo Baggins held the pearl necklace.

Mount Doom vomited lava through the sky and rumbled beneath the feet of Samwise. The winged-Nazgûl circled the air around Barad-dûr. The smell of sulfur clogged the air. But Frodo was absent from this. The pearls of Ulmo worked their magic, and Frodo's mind was taken back to a place he had almost forgotten.

Bag End. In Frodo's memory, he stood before Bag End as a small hobbit, newly orphaned. His cousin Bilbo had invited him to stay in Hobbiton, and he had agreed. Buckland held too many memories for Frodo. It would be a long time before he went that way again. Hobbiton was beautiful, anyhow. There were fields of lush grass, rolling hills, and even a small stream to wade in. It was different from his old home in Buckland, but neither better nor worse.

Bilbo's hobbit hole was very nice. It was warm and well furnished, but most importantly, Bilbo was very kind. Frodo thought that any place could be home as long as there was a hobbit there as nice as his cousin. Bilbo was considered eccentric in Hobbiton. He had gone on an adventure! Frodo had a bit of Took in him, and that part of him was very excited by the idea of adventures. Bilbo told him wonderful stories about elves and dwarves, scary stories about spiders and dragons, and magical stories about wizards and rings. He taught Frodo about maps, packing for a trip, and the best kept roads through Eriador. Frodo was very content in the Shire, however, and he did not plan to leave for many years.

Frodo was knocked from his memories as his head smacked the hard, black rock of the mountain. He was almost too late to see Gollum pounce on top of him. The creature's gnarled fingers groped for the Ring, and he fought with all his strength. Gollum grabbed what he thought was the Ring and pulled hard. Pearls flew in all directions, scattered across the black ash. Gollum was confused for just a moment, but the white stones burned his hand and he cast it away. Sam slashed at him with Sting, cutting Gollum enough to distract him.

Frodo saw his only opportunity. Gollum would only be concerned with the cut on his stomach for a slight moment. As determined as Sam was to protect him, Gollum's desire was fierce and deadly. Sam could not hold him off for much longer. Frodo had rested physically as Sam carried him up the mountain. The brief reprieve that came from the pearls had rested his will just enough.

He pushed himself up from the ground and sprinted forward on the path that led to the Cracks of Doom. He had not experienced such vigor since his youth when he had played tag with Merry and Pippin in the Party field. The Ring was heavy, however, and swung like a pendulum around his neck. Frodo closed his hand around the Ring to stop the weight.

He had made it. He stood inside Mount Doom, but the Ring had already drained his fleeting strength and will.

* * *

The Army of the West stood outside the Black Gate. They held no hope of victory. The Mouth of Sauron had showed Frodo's elven cloak, mithril vest, pearl necklace, and Sam's short sword to them. If Sauron did not have the Ring, his minions were bringing to him.

"We shall play our game one more time," said Legolas, unsheathing his knives.

"Aye," Gimli answered, "And at the End of Days, when the dwarves awaken to rebuild the world and the elves sing with the Ainur, then we will see who won."

Legolas nodded, "It will be me of course, since the mûmakil counted as seventeen."

Gimli growled, "All right! It counts as seventeen, but only because we're about to die. If we weren't, it would only be one."

The battle came swiftly. The Army of the West was surrounded, but they held no fear for themselves. They had marched to the Black Gate expecting death. It was their countrymen, their wives, and their children that they feared for. Many men died, but they fought valiantly to their deaths. Each man killed as many of Sauron's minions as he could before he fell himself.

Those men did not die in vain, however, for inside of Mount Doom, the fate of Middle-earth was decided. Gollum served his purpose, as Gandalf said he would. His lust for the Ring consumed him wholly. He wretched the Ring from Frodo by biting off his finger. But in his desire, he forgot one thing. Frodo also was consumed by the Ring. Frodo and Gollum fought bitterly for the Ring, but it was Gollum who prevailed. His precious was returned to him, but he fell into the fiery abyss and was destroyed with it.

Far off into the distance, Mount Doom erupted in a violent last stand. Even in Minas Tirith, the ground rumbled as the foundations of Barad-dûr were broken. The black clouds covering Mordor and stretching towards Ithilien scattered and sunlight shone upon the Black Land for the first time in half an Age. The realm of the Dark Lord was swallowed by a chasm in the Earth; his life force destroyed in the Fires of Mount Doom.

The Army of the West had triumphed by Frodo's will to come into the heart of Mount Doom. From there, the fate of the Ring could not be changed. It was destroyed by Gollum's error, but only Frodo had the strength to carry it so far.

In Minas Tirith, the terror of the Black Breath lifted. Those who had lost all hope of defeating the Enemy were now free to rejoice his demise. There was some hope that the Army still lived, and indeed, a messenger arrived only days later to announce that the Men of the West camped in Ithilien. The city was in barely controlled chaos as preparations were made for the return of the Army, and most importantly, the return of the King.

Faramir, Merry, and Lothiriel were released from the Houses of Healing all on the same day. The hobbit was extremely impressed that the elf had healed so quickly. Éowyn would not leave the Houses until Éomer returned to Minas Tirith, but her friends visited her as often as they could.

Faramir oversaw all of the preparations for the Army and Aragorn. When Lothiriel explained that she sometimes acted as Lady of Rivendell alongside Arwen, the Steward happily allowed her to take control of the duties regarding housing and meals. She was very glad for this distraction.

As she worked, she tried not to think of the fate of her many friends who had fought at the Black Gate. The messenger had said Aragorn lived, and Lothiriel was relieved to hear that Arwen had not wasted her immortality. Though, if Estel had fallen in battle, Arwen would have died from grief even if she were still immortal. The messenger said no word about the sons of Elrond or Legolas. Gimli the dwarf also was not mentioned.

"Further to the left," Lothiriel instructed, "Not that far left."

The servants moving the Steward's throne dutifully carried the black seat wherever Lothiriel directed. They masked their annoyance very carefully, as servants are trained to do.

"Kicking me out of my position already?"

Lothiriel turned to see Faramir standing behind her. He was dressed in the silver and black of the Tower guard. His lips were curled in a smile that Lothiriel had come to know well.

"For the record, your subjects," Lothiriel motioned to the servants, "Wanted to remove your throne completely, but I told them Aragorn would want you at his right hand."

"Did they?" the Steward asked, looking at the servants. They bowed meekly. "Well, come, your friend is about to be crowned King."

The Steward and Lady came at last to the Gates of Minas Tirith. Many soldiers of Gondor walked behind them, carrying a wooden box like Lothiriel had never seen before. When Faramir revealed its purpose to her, she grimaced. Even the men, who cannot easily read the emotions of elves, saw her discomfort at being so near to the bodily remains of a King long dead.

Éowyn and Merry joined them shortly, coming down a different path from the Houses of Healing. The elf, woman, and hobbit were led high onto the wall where they could watch the coronation. Only Faramir and the soldiers of Gondor left the city. Aragorn had requested that his crowning take place outside of the city, so that his subjects could welcome him as their King, rather than imposing himself as their ruler.

Lothiriel trained her eyes on the East. The army was steadily approaching from Ithilien. To mortals, they were still a giant mass with undistinguishable faces. To an elf, however, they were clearly recognizable.

"Ai! Elbereth!" Lothiriel cried, a bright smile lighting up her face, "They have all returned!"

Merry and Éowyn squinted their eyes, but they could not make out their friends.

"There rides Gandalf with an impish hobbit before him dressed as a Citadel guard."

"Pippin!" Merry cried.

"And Aragorn with my Elven-lords! Éomer is well also." The elf's eyes softened. "Legolas and Gimli too. One other is also with them, who I do not recognize. His standard is a white swan against a blue banner."

"Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth," Éowyn said, "Faramir's uncle on his mother's side."

The Army approached Minas Tirith quickly and halted once the rear battalion was in front of Rammas Echor. Aragorn dismounted Roheryn, and approached Faramir. The men of Gondor honored pomp and circumstance nearly as much as the elves. There were many traditions involved in a coronation. Faramir conducted them all expertly, as if he had crowned many Kings before, though he had not.

His own subjects welcomed Aragorn into the city. They named him Elessar for the jewel of the same name he wore on his cloak. Gandalf set the winged crown on his head. Lothiriel watched with unabashed glee as he became King of Arnor and Gondor.

Aragorn looked into the city, where his new subjects lined the walls, cheering for his return. His eyes fell upon Lothiriel, standing on the ramparts of the first wall. She was only one of the many people who had guided him through his life. While Lothiriel tended the nicks and cuts he sustained during his earliest swordplay lessons, she always said to him one thing.

_"Learn this skill, Estel, and you will live to learn many more skills. Learn not this skill, and fulfill not your destiny."_

He did not understand what she meant then, but he had always taken up his sword again and did as his she advised. Behind him stood Elladan and Elrohir, his foster brothers. In the wild, they had been his teachers. They guided his experiences with wisdom, always urging him towards his destiny, but never pushing farther than the young man could handle. Aragorn was happy that some of his adopted family was in Minas Tirith to see him fulfill his destiny, as they had always wanted him to do.

"Behold the King!" said Faramir.

* * *

The city of Minas Tirith never slept. Even into the early hours of the morning, dimmed noise issued from the first six levels of the city. The pubs stayed open, and on this night, found many citizens wanting to celebrate the victory over Mordor and the return of the King. There was not a festival held throughout the entire city, as many had expected. Only those closest to the newly crowned King knew this was because he waited for Arwen.

The seventh level of the city was quiet. Only the guards were still awake. They stood at the seventh gate, Citadel entrances, and entrance to the royal chambers. The garden was silent except for the crickets. Legolas and Lothiriel made no noise as they walked together hand-in-hand.

"I am glad to see you well," Legolas said, "You healed much faster than Elladan and Elrohir expected you would."

"Samwise would say it's elvish magic."

Legolas laughed softly, "Yes, he would. I suppose your healing hands are some sort of magic outside of the elvish race."

"Many elven things are called magic. Even our dreams."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. He was relived that Lothiriel had brought up the subject so he didn't have to.

"Legolas, did you mean to wake me when I was injured?"

The wood-elf shook his head, "I did not. I brought you from your sleep unknowingly."

"I was also unaware of my intent."

The two elves fell silent for a long while, neither brave enough to speak. The silence between them was changed however. It was no longer a comfort under bright stars and the tree canopy. There was an awkward, unresolved feeling in the air.

"What is your intent now, my Lady? You said many meaningful words to me at our last parting, yet those words may be interpreted many ways."

Lothiriel sighed, "How do you think you should interpret my words, Legolas? Did I not kiss you in my dreamscape?"

Such a blunt statement stunned the elf. Calendan and Faelon had often commented about the surprising nature of the female mind, but Legolas had never experienced such a thing.

"Yes," he replied, hesitantly.

The fact had not escaped him, yet it also did not play a strong role in his analysis of their relationship. He had kissed many elleth in this life, but for many reasons other than love or even attraction.

A sly smiled caressed Lothiriel's lips. "Is that all you have to say, my Prince?"

Legolas stopped walking suddenly. When Lothiriel turned to inquire about why he ceased their walk, an equally sly smile was on his lips.

"Yes."

He pulled Lothiriel to him, and she crashed into his chest. They faced each other with Lothiriel's soft, healing hands upon Legolas's chest, and his strong, warrior hands covering hers. In Lothiriel's green eyes, Legolas saw sunlight filtered through the tree canopy of Greenwood the Great. Likewise, Lothiriel saw in Legolas's blue eyes, the moonlight glistening on the calm surface of the sea.

They leaned into each other slowly until their lips brushed together. The world around them disappeared into nothingness, and they were alone beneath the night sky twinkling with the bright stars of Elbereth. When they parted, they experienced something unique to elven-kind. Like Thingol and Melian so long before, they found that the hours had passed them by and the sun was rising of the distant horizon.

* * *

When the city woke in the morning, they found that much had changed overnight. They were subjects of a King now, rather than a Steward only. The people of Gondor loved Faramir, and they were glad he was still their Steward. Aragorn had done many things to claim the love of his people, but keeping the position of Steward had been a defining decision.

King Elessar asked that the celebration of victory over Mordor and restoration of Minas Tirith not stop with the new day. The shopkeepers, craftsman, soldiers, and healers put all of their effort into returning the white city to its full splendor. A rumor spread quickly that a Queen was coming to Gondor, and the labor to repair the city doubled. When word began to go around that the Queen was an elf, work tripled.

During the day, Aragorn governed his new kingdom. He pardoned the Easterlings, freed the slaves of Mordor, and made plans with Gimli to repair the gates of the city. At night, he sat with his friends in the Great Hall. Gathered there were the eight remaining members of the Fellowship, the sons of Elrond, Lothiriel, Faramir and Éowyn, Éomer, and Imrahil. They sat together singing, telling stories of their separate pasts, and forming friendships that would last long into the future.

There was a hearth in the Great Hall large enough to heat the entire room. Only Aragorn was taller than the mantle. This was where Frodo could usually be found. Sometimes, he stared into the flames. Other times, he wrote half-heartedly in a leather bound journal. He wanted to take notes for Bilbo, but it was too soon, and the pain was fresh.

"Drink this," Lothiriel said.

She knelt down next to the chair where Frodo sat. The hobbit had been staring into nothingness since the dinner meal ended. Frodo took the cup of tea and sipped it slowly. Lothiriel had brewed the tea with herbs that brought on dreamless sleep.

"You did what no one else could do, Frodo."

The hobbit looked up at her, startled that anyone would dare to speak of his perils openly. Frodo did not mind. In fact, he needed to share his troubles. He did not expect gentle, happy Lothiriel to be the one brave enough to bring up the topic.

"There could have been other Ring-bearers."

Lothiriel nodded, "Of course. There is always more than one person who can complete a task. However, there is not always a person who is willing. Perhaps, a maiden could have resisted the evil of the ring, but could not have survived in Mordor. Maybe a warrior could have withstood the perils of Mordor, but not the evil of the Ring. There is one thing I know for certain. There is no one who could destroy the Ring and live peacefully afterwards."

Frodo looked sadly at the healer elf. She had done so much for him just healing his shoulder. Lothiriel was a healer unlike any other. Her hands healed, her words healed, and even her pearls healed.

Frodo smiled weakly. "I wanted to thank you, Lady Lothiriel, for the pearl necklace you gave me in Rivendell."


	11. The End of the Road

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Ten**

"**The End of the Road"**

The days passed by quickly. Éomer and Éowyn departed for Rohan. Merry and the sons of Elrond went with them. Éomer was now the King of the Mark, and he had matters of his own kingdom to address. They would return soon to escort Théoden's remains to Edoras, where he would be buried with his forefathers and his son. From sunup to sundown, Aragorn and Faramir were busy with governing Gondor. Pippin was often on duty in the Citadel, but when he was not, he took great pride in showing his friends around Minas Tirith. Legolas and Gimli explored Minas Tirith as they had explored Lothlórien. Aragorn had asked Gimli's opinion on the repair of the city. He also asked Legolas his opinion on where to plant gardens for he knew Arwen and Lothiriel would not enjoy having only one in the city.

By Aragorn's leave, Lothiriel went to work as a healer. She spent most her time with the scribe, dictating formulas for various ailments and healing qualities of certain herbs. At her request, Sam came to the garden of the healers and planted many herbs with Lothiriel. He was delighted to teach her all the hobbit-names of the different herbs and equally delighted to hear all the elvish names for them.

It was nearing Lithe when Lothiriel began to notice that every night after dinner, Aragorn stood on the battlements of the Citadel and looked to the North. She joined him several times for she knew who would come by that road.

"She will come, Estel," Lothiriel whispered, "All of your long years of waiting will not be in vain."

Aragorn smiled slyly at his the elleth. "And so will Elrond."

She sighed, "Yes. How long do you think he will yell at me?"

The man laughed heartily, "That I cannot answer, but I estimate Elladan and Elrohir will bear the brunt of his fury on the journey to Minas Tirith. Elrond will be so happy that you are still alive, he will forget you disobeyed him."

The elf smiled, "I may hope. Do you remember the time I took you across the Bruinen?"

Aragorn laughed again, "Yes! I had never heard Elrond yell so loudly before!"

"At me!" Lothiriel cried, "I told him you forced me, but for some reason he did not believe a nine-year-old child of men could force a six hundred-year-old elf to do anything."

A cheeky grin was on Aragorn's face. "He underestimated me until I beat him at sparring."

A guard of the Citadel dressed in black and silver approached the King and Lady. He bowed low before Aragorn.

"King Elessar, forgive my intrusion. A messenger has arrived from Amon Dîn. He delivered this." The guard handed Aragorn a scroll tied with black string. "He has been shown to a room on the sixth level. He will deliver a response, if you desire to send one."

"Thank you … Erold, is it?"

The guard was stunned that his King knew him by name.

"Y-Yes, my King. Erold, son of Erion."

"I thank you again, Erold, son of Erion. This message is most important to me."

The guard bowed as he walked away. Lothiriel smiled at Aragorn.

"You're just a Ranger with a crown," she laughed.

Aragorn unrolled the message and read it silently. When he finished, he rolled it up again and secured the ribbon. Lothiriel waited expectantly. She knew the message was from Arwen's escort, but she wanted Aragorn to tell her what it said.

"They arrive in two days," the King said. As he walked away, he turned his head to Lothiriel one more time. "And you're in trouble."

On Mid-summer's Eve, the escort of Arwen came to Minas Tirith. The people of Minas Tirith watched in awe as the large party of elves wound their way through the seven levels of the city. Riding in front of the caravan were Elladan and Elrohir, carrying banners of silver. There were also many elves of Rivendell and Lothlórien who followed. Among them were Glorfindel, Erestor, and Haldir with his brothers. Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel rode near the back of the escort with Elrond and Arwen.

The city was prepared for their Queen and the celebration that would take place after the wedding. In the Citadel courtyard, servants were busy completing the final touches for the wedding. Standing before the White Tree was an altar carved from beech, and stretching clear to the end of the precipice of Mount Mindolluin were ornately carved benches for the guests. The Great Hall was decorated with silver garland and blue ribbon, the Queen's chambers were freshly cleaned, and silversmiths polished a crown newly made for the Queen.

When the elves reached the Seventh Gate, Lothiriel greeted them. She was dressed in the finest gown in Gondor with a silver circlet on her head. Her eyes flitted nervously over Lord Elrond, to Arwen.

"Welcome, my Lords and Ladies, to Minas Tirith. Please, come through the gate and find your seats. The wedding will begin as soon as Lady Arwen is ready."

Lothiriel greeted each elf as they passed. Galadriel read the deepest desires of the elleth's heart with only a glance into her eyes. She smiled softly, and entered through the Gate with Celeborn. Elrond was the last to enter the courtyard. Like Galadriel, Elrond read Lothiriel's heart easily. She did not hide from him her guilt of leaving Imladris. He saw also that Lothiriel had grown. He did not think she would attempt such foolish adventures again.

"I have not the adequate words to say to you," Lothiriel began, "I have come to understand my error. All I know to say is that I am sorry. I will not again disobey my Lord's orders."

"Your King's orders," Elrond corrected, "If you are to remain in Gondor, you will be a subject of the King. You and I will speak later. For now, you should go aid Arwen in her preparations for her wedding."

Lothiriel hurried through the corridor towards the Queen's chambers, where the servants had led Arwen. When she entered, Arwen was standing in front of the looking glass. The old friends rushed to each other and embraced tightly.

"You are alive!" Arwen cried, "I could hardly believe it when I saw you at the Gate! News reached Rivendell of the Enemy's strength, and I feared that you had gone into battle like some foolish child."

Lothiriel shifted her weight, "I did."

Arwen was stunned into silence for a long moment. "Stupid elf! You could have been killed! What were you thinking! What were Elladan and Elrohir thinking to allow it!"

"I will explain it all in due time, Arwen. Right now, your wedding should be our main concern."

The weddings of elves and of men were very different. Aragorn and Arwen had decided long ago that they would combine the two rituals. For elves, marriage was an act of will and bodily union. For men, it was a ceremony with certain vows and promises to be made in front of witnesses.

Arwen turned back to the looking glass, and looked at her reflection in silence. After a moment, she turned from the mirror.

"I am ready," she said, with a smile.

The ellyth walked together to the place in the hall where Elrond waited for them. Lothiriel went on ahead of them and took her seat with the elves. She saw many faces in the crowd that she did not know. Mostly, they were nobles of Gondor come to see their King wed their Queen. Faramir sat in the place of the Steward, and Lothiriel was not surprised to see Éowyn with him. Éomer had only just returned from Rohan, and he wore still his armor, but so did many of the guests. Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin all sat in places of honor. Prince Imrahil sat in the second row, with his wife and two children who had come from Dol Amroth for the wedding. His daughter was also called Lothiriel, and the two Ladies nodded an acknowledgement to each other.

Lothiriel knew every one of the elves seated behind her. She had visited Lothlórien twice, and made friends with many of the healers and march wardens. Even some of her kin from the Gray Havens had made the journey South, but very few. The Teleri were building ships with fervor to supply all the elves who wished to sail to Valinor.

The marriage commenced shortly after Lothiriel took her seat. The marriage vows of Gondor were exchanged, and Elrond placed Arwen's hand in Aragorn's. The Elven-lord gave to Aragorn the scepter of Annúminas, which was a sign of his rule in both Gondor and Arnor.

"Behold King Elessar and Queen Arwen!" the herald called.

The wedding guests bowed to them, even the highest renowned among the Elven-lords and Ladies. The story of Aragorn and Arwen was well known. It was happy and tragic, doomed and blessed, but their faith and courage moved the heart of all who heard their story.

The new King and Queen led their guests into the Great Hall for the celebration feast. Throughout the city, a cheer rose as the word spread that Gondor had a Queen. All seven levels were filled with festivities that lasted long into the night. Gandalf set off fireworks, minstrels played cheerfully music, and the wedding guests sang happy songs into the early hours of the morning.

Legolas stood to the side of the party, watching with unabashed mirth as Lothiriel tried to teach Gimli an elven dance. The dwarf was simply too short to do the dance steps, but Lothiriel would not relent.

"I did them as an elfling, Gimli," she protested.

The dwarf grumbled beneath his breath, "Did you have a beard that you kept tripping on?"

"Tuck it in your belt!" Lothiriel laughed, grabbing the dwarf's hands again.

Legolas felt the approach of another behind him. He turned to see Lord Elrond watching Lothiriel over Legolas' shoulder. After a moment, the Elven-lord motioned for Legolas to follow him. The two elves walked away from the party, into the Citadel garden. Elrond stood at the wall, looking to the East. He did not speak for a very long time.

"There are many obstacles for a wood-elf to be accepted into the community of High-elves," Elrond began, "I told Lothiriel this many months ago in Rivendell."

"And Lady Galadriel said this to me also," Legolas said.

Elrond seemed pleased to hear that his mother-in-law had spoken to Legolas about the long-standing rift between herself and Thranduil.

"Then you know that you have passed the first barrier. I see in your eyes the sea-longing."

Elrond paused for a moment. He turned to look at Legolas.

"You have only passed the first impediment. There are many more trials ahead of you that you do not foresee. You are a Prince. You have an obligation to govern your people. Will your people accept that you will one day leave them? You have gained great honor by being one of the Nine Walkers, and will be welcomed to Valinor as if you were High-king of all elves. Yet, your return to Mirkwood will not be so glorious, will it?"

Legolas furrowed his brow, "My Lord? I do not understand why you say all of this. I cannot change what will come to pass at my homecoming."

Elrond nodded, "That is a wise attitude to take. I say this to you for a specific reason. I have looked again into the future. I wished to know what will come to pass after I depart Middle-earth. My family stays here, by blood or adoption, there are many I care for who remain. I saw there that the fate of my family is intertwined with yours." Elrond looked to the East. "I say this to you, Legolas Greenleaf; look to the forest that awoke to your voice."

Legolas also looked to the East. The forest of Ithilien lies between the Anduin and the feet of Ephel Dúath. Aragorn had named Faramir Prince of that land, and he said he would dwell at Emyn Arnen in the South of the forest. When the Army of the West had marched on the Black Gate, they had passed through Ithilien. There, Legolas had lifted his voice in a clear elven-song, and the trees had answered him.

Elrond spoke again. His face and voice were stern. "I have not looked directly into your future, but I know your father well enough to say this. You will not find a home in Mirkwood. Your welcome will not be warm nor will your parting."

The wood-elf's heart was struck a mighty blow. He had thought Ithilien was a good land and would benefit from an elven realm. Aragorn and Faramir had already approved the idea, and promised Legolas freedom to govern the realm if he established it. The only person Legolas thought would not be impressed with the idea was his father. Thranduil had never approved of his youngest son's daydreaming and adventures through the forest. He did not think Legolas was a solid Prince. Therefore, Legolas found the possibility of leading wood-elves from Mirkwood to Ithilien was near impossible. Thranduil would not trust him to govern properly.

Legolas turned from the view of the forest. "And if my father will not allow me to come to Gondor?"

The Lord was silent as he thought. "Then you must hold to the knowledge that a home awaits you beyond the sea."

A moment later, Lothiriel came into the garden. She was skipping and twirling, dragging a disgruntled dwarf with her. His red beard was tucked into his belt, but his feet still stumbled. Lothiriel stopped abruptly when she saw Elrond and Legolas. Gimli crashed into her, and was about to protest, when he also saw the Elven-lord and Legolas.

Elrond walked to Lothiriel and held out a thick scroll tied with a blue ribbon.

"The event I foresaw has been completed. You have done well."

Lothiriel looked at the scroll curiously. She wondered if Elrond had disclosed the fulfilled event in the letter, but she doubted it. Elrond did not take his gift lightly nor did he solicit his visions. When Elrond made his exit, Gimli also slipped away.

"You are not happy," Lothiriel stated, walking to Legolas.

"No, I am not. Lord Elrond has told me things that I knew in my heart all along, but would not accept. Now, I know my instincts were correct. I can never go home, yet I cannot remain here."

Legolas told her about Ithilien, and explained why he may not be allowed to establish a realm. She listened, but did not understand. She could not comprehend a father being ashamed of his child.

Lothiriel looked to the East. She had often looked to Ithilien and wondered if she and Arwen could visit there when the white stone of Minas Tirith became too much. Faramir had given the elleth an open invitation to spend as much time as she wished in the forest and at his future home in Emyn Arnen.

Legolas sighed and leaned against the stone wall. "It would be wonderful to build my city there. I have imagined _talans_ like in Lothlórien and homes on the ground such as in Imladris. I would even ask Gimli to build me caverns in the earth, to impress my father."

"You've forgotten the two most important parts of an elven-realm!"

"Let me guess, Houses of Healing and a Havens."

Lothiriel laughed, "I suppose I'm predictable."

"Well, it was an easy guess. After all, what else would a sea-elf and a healer look for in a city? I'm not sure how well wood-elves could build a Havens, but the Silvan folk will try anything."

"Perhaps there are some Teleri who would remain in Middle-earth for a time to teach your elves the craft of shipbuilding. If there is one thing sea-elves love more than building ships, it's teaching others how to build them."

"So, your people would help me make ships. Then, that is solved, but even you forgot the most important element of any realm I establish."

"And what is that?" Lothiriel asked.

"You."

The sea-elf was startled by his answer, but she quickly regained her composure. Legolas took her delicate hand in his own. "Would you come to South Ithilien?"

Lothiriel nodded, "Of course I would."

"I look forward to your company in my new realm. Would you be happy to run the Houses of Healing?"

Lothiriel smiled, "Very, but there is another reason I would be happy in Ithilien."

"And that is?"

"You."

The elves fell silent. They turned back to Ithilien, both imagining how an elven-realm could bless the forest choked by the evil of Mordor.

"But this is all fantasy," Legolas sighed, "Unless some tragic event has altered my father's will, I won't be allowed to return as Lord of my own realm."

Lothiriel said, resolutely, "If hope is Ithilien, then that is where we must look."

* * *

A great caravan departed from Minas Tirith many days after the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen. They traveled slowly through Gondor and into Rohan. Among the travelers were the eight remaining members of the Fellowship; Gandalf, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin. With the Fellowship rode many friends they had made on their quest; Elrond, Galadriel and Celeborn, Faramir and Éowyn, Éomer, Lothiriel, the sons of the Elrond, Imrahil, and Haldir, plus many elves of Lothlórien and Imladris, soldiers of Gondor, and knights of Rohan.

They were the funeral escort of Théoden King, seventeenth King of the Mark. Those who had known him thought well of him, and those who did not, wished they had for his friends shared many fond stories about the old King. When they came at last to Edoras, Théoden was placed to rest eternally in a funeral mound beside his son Théodred where simbelmynë would grow until the world changed.

The collection of men and elves went up to Meduseld then where a great feast was held in honor of Théoden's service to his people. The celebration was much more than glorifying a King, however, for the engagement of Faramir and Éowyn was announced formally and the Oath of friendship between Gondor and Rohan was renewed.

"I would spend our last night beneath the stars," Lothiriel whispered.

Legolas nodded, and rose from the table. If anyone noticed the young elves slip out of the Golden Hall, they said nothing of it. The festivities continued into the early hours of the morning, and Legolas and Lothiriel did not return until everyone in Meduseld was asleep.

"This may be our last night together for a very long time," Legolas said, looking up at the stars, "I do not relish leaving on the morrow, but I must. I would have you wear this, as a symbol of remembrance."

Legolas placed on Lothiriel's head a circlet of silver, shaped to resemble blooming flowers and leaves intertwined. It dipped low on her brow, and there sat a single emerald. It was heavier than the elves would make, but Lothiriel did not feel its weight much.

"I wish I could say it is a tradition of the wood-elves, as the pearls you gave to me are a tradition of the sea-elves, but it is not. It is only a gift I found for you in Minas Tirith. When I return, I will replace it with one of the woodland realm."

Lothiriel arched her eyebrow, "Wood-elves do not know smith-craft."

"True, but the dwarves of Erebor do. Gimli has offered to do this for me."

Lothiriel laughed, "For you, yes. I do not think he likes me or my dancing."

The wood-elf did not respond with matched laughter. "I do not know how long I will be."

"We have eternity. If you cannot build a realm in Ithilien, come to Gondor when you may. And if you may not come to Gondor, send a letter to me to tell me you are well. When Arwen's time has ended, I will send to you a messenger. Come to Ithilien then, where my Teleri kin have promised to leave a ship. Then, we sail down the Anduin together and come to the Bay of Eldamar; the last two elves to sail to Valinor. A century is but a blink of the eye to the Eldar, though it will be the longest century of my immortal life."

"I will, my Lady."

It seemed that the first vestiges of age touched the two youngest elves Middle-earth. Their eyes were a little sadder, and their laughter would always be a little more reserved.

Many farewells were said that morning, before the company left Edoras. Some were permanent and others were only temporary. Arwen Undómiel would never again see her father or her grandparents, but her brothers would remain in Middle-earth for a time. She and Elrond spent many hours before their parting in the hills surrounding Edoras, and none ever learned what was said between them. When the travelers left Edoras on the road to Isengard, they were a smaller company. Those who remained in the capital city of Edoras were Éomer, Éowyn and Faramir, Imrahil, Lothiriel, and Arwen.

Lothiriel stood on the stone wall of Meduseld, watching the riders depart. She did not know if Legolas turned back to look at her once more, but she held her hand up in a gentle parting. When the travelers disappeared from her sight, she turned and entered Meduseld.

"Now, Arwen, I will tell you my tale from the beginning."


	12. The Homecoming

**Underneath the Stars**

**Chapter Eleven**

"**The Homecoming"**

The forest was changed. No longer did a dark shadow lie on Mirkwood. This was not to say that evil had left the land. Dol Guldur was demolished, but its evil lingered on. Spiders and many other fell creatures still scurried in the treetops and in the foliage, but they were fearful now that light had reentered the woods. Arod did not like the forest. He was a horse bred on the open plains of Rohan, but he loved the elf who was his master.

Celeborn had told Legolas about the meeting between himself and Thranduil. They had renamed the forest Eryn Lasgalen, the Forest of Greenleaves. Legolas did not miss the irony that he now shared a name with the forest, yet Legolas no longer thought of it as home. Legolas thought of this subject as he rode through his childhood home. It would not be long before he entered the realm of his father, and Legolas still did not know how to explain his year away.

Firstly, he returned with Gimli. Not only was Gimli a dwarf, but he was the son of Glóin, a former prisoner of Thranduil and one of the keepers of the hoard in the Lonely Mountain. Secondly, he returned with the sea-longing and the desire to sail West. That desire rested deeply in the hearts of all elves, but wood-elves avoided the sea for that reason. Thirdly, he returned with a proposal that he leave Eryn Lasgalen forever to establish his own realm in a country of men.

"What do you think of?" Gimli asked, "The Glittering Caves or Fangorn?"

Gimli referred the adventures shared by the friends on their return journey. At the Hornburg, Gimli had taken Legolas through the Glittering Caves. While the wood-elf did not enjoy the underground, he saw the beauty in Aglarond. After meeting with Treebeard in Isengard, the elf and the dwarf had explored Fangorn. Gimli kept his axe lowered, and the trees welcomed Legolas. Gimli would never fully appreciate trees as Legolas did, but he now saw them as more than kindling.

"Neither," Legolas replied, "but I cannot speak of this now for we draw close to the borders of my father's realm."

Within minutes, wood-elves dropped from the tree canopy and bowed low to their Prince.

"Welcome home, Prince Legolas," Orion said, "We have been expecting you for some time."

"I am glad to see you and the scouting party returned safely from Imladris," Legolas said.

The Prince passed on quickly, though he was not anxious to come to his father's stone halls. The march wardens had noticed Gimli, and were exchanging disapproving looks. He did not feel like defending his friendship to everyone in the woodland realm. It would be hard enough to convince his father that friendship with a dwarf was not a bad thing.

The caverns of King Thranduil appeared after a turn in the road. After crossing the bridge over the swift flowing Forest River, a path led directly into the palace. There, Legolas and Gimli dismounted Arod. Attendants led away the horse, only after Legolas assured him he would be treated with care.

"The King and Queen are waiting for you," Arion, the herald, announced.

Legolas entered the throne hall with Gimli beside him.

* * *

He was changed.

Thranduil watched with sorrow as his youngest son walked into the Great Hall. He still wore garments of brown and green, made in the Mirkwood fashion, but that was all that was the same. He wore wrist guards with the insignia of Imladris. A sword was at his hip and over his shoulders he wore leather armor, both fashioned in the style of the men of Rohan. A dwarf walked beside Legolas, and looked strangely familiar to the Elven-king. Most disturbing to Thranduil, however, was the elven cloak held at the throat by a green brooch of Lothlórien. To his further dismay, the Elvenking saw that his son, the finest archer in Mirkwood, carried a bow of the Galadhrim.

Yet that was not what caused Thranduil such grief. The tokens of the High-elves meant little, other than perhaps symbolism to a poetic mind. What caused him the most pain were Legolas's eyes. His premonition had been true. His son belonged to the sea.

Legolas bowed slightly, and Thranduil was surprised to see the dwarf do the same.

"What dwarf would bow to me?" he asked.

"A dwarf who has come to respect the Prince of Mirkwood. I am Gimli, son of Glóin."

Thranduil looked curiously at Legolas. He wondered at what perils his son had been put through to bond with a son of Glóin. Legolas had guarded the dwarves in Thorin Oakenshield's party before Bilbo Baggins helped them escape. He had marched to the Lonely Mountain with Thranduil to claim part of the treasure for Mirkwood. Yet, somehow, he had come to be friends with this dwarf.

"This is bizarre for a son of a former prisoner of Mirkwood to become friends with his father's warden."

Legolas cringed as his father talked. Gimli looked up at him in surprise, but said nothing. Though he was a dwarf, and they generally spoke their minds, he was of noble blood, and behaved properly in formal situations. Thranduil signaled for attendants to show Gimli to a guest room. After he was gone, Thranduil continued speaking.

"My son," he said, rising from his throne, "I am glad to see you home. I nearly lost hope for much time has passed since the Enemy was destroyed. I feared I had lost you on the same battlefield where I lost my father."

"I am well, Adar."

Adonniel rushed in from a side chamber, paying no mind to propriety. Her youngest son was home, alive and well. Her father had fallen at Dagorlad beside Oropher. When the message arrived from Rivendell that Legolas went willingly to Mordor on a quest to destroy the Ring, she had hidden herself in her chambers and cried for days. Only Calendan's safe return had drawn her from her dark thoughts.

The Queen of the wood-elves embraced her son tightly. She would not let him go until she had thoroughly checked him for wounds, scars, and illness. Of course, these are rare things for elves, but Adonniel was a mother. Thoughts of harm coming to her children were never far from her mind.

"I am well, naneth," Legolas laughed.

Adonniel abandoned her inspection. She looked at Legolas's face again, so happy to see him, but the smile fell from her face. Carefully hidden behind joy and love, Adonniel saw grief and longing in her son's pale eyes. She was a wise Queen and an old elf. She knew what called to her son. It was something wood-elves avoided at all costs. The Sea. A distant memory flashed in Adonniel's mind as she looked into her youngest son's eyes.

_2419 T.A._

_A beam of light cut through the darkness of the night and fell on the sleeping child's face. He was sleeping peacefully after a long day of playing in the forest. His blue eyes were opened, but unseeing as he walked in the dreamscape of the elves. His slender body was curled into a ball under the light blanket, but he still wore his play clothes. Adonniel entered the room silently and shut the door behind her, cutting off the torchlight. She sat lightly on her son's bed and ran her hand gently through his tangled blonde hair. _

_This was her youngest son, her last child. Thrandir had only recently fallen in battle, and the pain of her eldest son's death was still fresh. Thranduil had not wanted another child. He did not want to replace Thrandir, but Adonniel assured him that was not why she wanted another child. She wanted a daughter. Adonniel never thought birthing a fifth son could have been better than any daughter. Legolas was the child she had been waiting for. His soul belonged to the forest, not the stone halls of his father. His father was a Sindarin King, but Legolas was a wood-elf, like Adonniel. _

_"Naneth?" Legolas asked, as he stirred from his sleep._

_"Yes, it is I. I am sorry I could not tell you a story tonight."_

_The small elf shifted in his bed and curled against his mother. "Will you tell me one now?" _

_Adonniel smiled gently, "Of course I will. How about the story of the balrog-"_

_"No, naneth. Tell me a story about the elves at dinner tonight."_

_Adonniel's face grew troubled. She had sent Legolas and Faelon to bed early to avoid questions about the visiting Noldorin elves. There was political reason for Thranduil and Elrond to meet on occasion. As the new heir, Calendan had to learn to be around Elrond's people. Nevertheless, Adonniel did not want her young sons affected by the strange ways of the High-elves._

_"You wish to hear a tale of the Noldor rather than our own people?" she asked._

_Legolas nodded, his blue eyes wide, "I wish to know what is beyond our borders."_

_Adonniel swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. Her fear had returned to her once more. An ancient memory returned to her from a time when her father ruled the wood-elves and no one was sure what was to be more feared, Morgoth or the kinslaying of the High-elves. _

_"All right, Legolas. I will tell you one story about the High-elves. This tale is about the Noldor, but also of one of our own. This story takes place long ago, when the first Sindarin Princes crossed the Misty Mountains. Among them were your father and his friend, Amdir …"_

* * *

"I should leave in the morning."

Legolas turned to his friend. "Nonsense, Gimli, you should rest for a few days. It has been a long journey from the Lonely Mountain to Gondor and back."

"Are you sure I won't be put in a dungeon and guarded by you?"

Legolas sighed, "I am sorry, Gimli. If I had known that one day you and I would be great friends, I would not have made fun of your father's beard, but I did not know that. You cannot tell me that you have never done grievance to an elf because they were an elf."

Gimli looked curiously at his friend. There was something different about Legolas. He seemed older, more weighted with the troubles of the world.

"What is on your mind, lad?" Gimli asked.

"Ithilien," he replied, bluntly, "You should rest, Gimli, for you are able to sleep underground for the first time in many months. I must go speak with my father."

The dwarf nodded, "Sleep comes easier when the Shadow has departed, but this cavern is nothing like a mine."

Legolas walked through the corridors of the palace towards his father's chambers. He wished Calenden or Faelon were home to support him, but they were away on patrol. He knocked softly on the door, and entered when Thranduil signaled.

The King was still at his table, reviewing the maps drawn up at his meeting with Celeborn. Adonniel sat in the corner of the room, weaving an intricate tapestry.

"Good evening, Legolas," she smiled, "Come and sit with your naneth."

Legolas did as his mother asked, but as he sat, he turned to his father. "I wanted to speak with you, Adar."

Thranduil looked up. Legolas was not in the habit of coming to him about anything. The Elven-king laid aside his maps.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I have a proposal."

Thranduil nodded, though his heart told him only grief would come from what he was about to hear.

"I ask for your leave to establish a realm in the forest of Ithilien in Gondor. King Elessar and Prince Faramir have invited me to lead elves into that land, so we may bless the trees for a time."

Adonniel stopped her weaving. Her heart wept for she knew now that she truly had lost her son. However, she was glad that he still thought of the trees and not only the sea. Thranduil was silent for a very long time. When he did speak, his voice was sad and slow.

"You wish to leave so soon after returning?"

Legolas thought for a moment before speaking. That his request was not flatly denied shocked him. "I would depart only after thorough plans have been made. I wish only to begin planning soon."

"And what is in this forest that is so dear to you?"

"When we passed through that land as we marched on the Black Gate, the trees woke to my voice. Long has the forest survived under the Shadow of Mordor, but it has not lost its beauty."

Again, the King fell silent. "There is a thought in your mind that you do not speak."

The Prince sighed, "Yes, there is, and I will say it now. Ithilien is close to the sea, and I will soon need access to the water."

Thranduil turned his head away from Legolas. He looked out the window at the trees blowing in the breeze. He longed for the days when his son thought only of those branches and leaves. He was hard on Legolas for daydreaming. His youngest child had passed those days, however. He planned to take action, and that action involved leaving Thranduil's realm.

"Even now you wear jewels from the sea," Adonniel said, tears threatening to slip from her eyes.

Thranduil turned sharply back to Legolas. He had not noticed the pearl necklace among the foreign objects Legolas wore. The King knew exactly why he did not take note of them; Thranduil had worn them. When he lived in Doriath, the ellyth among the sea-elves had given them to their friends and lovers.

"Speak the truth to me, Legolas," he said, sternly, "Tell me the entire story or be handed a firm denial immediately. You wish to be near the High-elves."

Legolas straightened at his father's harsh tone. Since his return, Thranduil had been sorrowful and passive, but that seemed to have passed. The Prince answered his father honestly.

"There may be some Teleri who wish to come to Ithilien, if I start a realm there."

"All of this for High-elves!" Thranduil cried, "You want me to send my people to a foreign land with you as their only leader so you can live among High-elves?"

Adonniel stepped forward, between Thranduil and Legolas. "Yelling will lead nowhere."

"Especially not to Ithilien," the King returned, "That is my answer, Legolas."

* * *

Adonniel turned from the balcony. Thranduil sat on the edge of their bed, grief and fatigue in his eyes. His crown lay forgotten by his feet.

"I foresaw this," she said, quietly, "Long ago I saw in Legolas's eyes that he would belong to us for only a brief time. I cherished those years when he was my little boy, a true wood-elf. But, a different path has always awaited him, Thranduil."

The King looked up at his wife. He did not see how she so easily released Legolas. She was a wood-elf by birth. Her people were the wild, rustic Avari tamed by the Sindar, but always proud of their silvan blood.

"How can you give him to the Noldor?" he asked, disquieted.

Adonniel sat beside her husband and took his hand. "I do not 'give' him to those who sacked your homeland. Nor do I give him to those who look down upon my people. It is to our people that I release him. He has asked for permission to take our own people to Gondor, not to take up residence with the descendants of Fëanor. Legolas has said that perhaps some Teleri will reside there as well. The Teleri are not the enemy of the Sindar. They are of the same blood! Need I remind you that the Teleri felt the first sting of the kinslaying in Valinor?"

Thranduil did not miss the look Adonniel sent his way. The Teleri were essentially as close to Thranduil's own kin as possible. The sea-elves who never saw the Light of the Two Trees were not considered part of the Eldar. Those elves that lived by the sea in Middle-earth still called themselves Teleri, though technically, they were Sindar. They were Moriquendi, Sindarin elves. Thranduil was the same.

"Nay, you do not," sighed Thranduil.

"This forest in Ithilien is not so different from Eryn Lasgalen. Ithilien has been choked by Mordor, as we have been choked by Dol Guldur."

The Queen saw the wheels churning in her husband's eyes. She knew she had said the right thing. He nodded slowly.

"Your son does not betray his upbringing. He honors it with his mission to restore beauty to Ithilien. You are only chagrined that he has exceeded your expectations." Thranduil looked at his wife in shock. "I know your heart, Thranduil. You think wood-elves are all daydreamers, but some good has come from Legolas's wandering mind. Tell me, what kind of Prince would have suggested leaving his homeland to establish his own realm?"

An ancient memory returned to Thranduil as he looked at his wife. It was of the day he and his father arrived in Greenwood the Great, years after the Noldor ruined Doriath and killed many of his kin.

_3rd year of the S.A._

_He looked up at the elf leaning over him. She looked nothing like his people with her strange clothing, but she was an elf, and a very beautiful one at that. _

_"Your leg will heal. Perhaps now you and your father will avoid wargs," Adonniel said, tersely. _

_"Did your people save us from death so their healers could scowl at us?" Thranduil asked, with a laugh. _

_Adonniel frowned more deeply, "Who are you?"_

_"I am Thranduil, Oropher is my father. I am no one of great import where we come from, only the third son of a Prince who will never die."_

_"Where are you from?"_

_"Doriath, the Kingdom of Thingol and Melian the Maia."_

_Adonniel answered him, with fire in her eyes._

_"We have met your people before. They think we are rustic and backwards, but we are not the elves who fight among our own race. We do not wed men who are below us or Maia who are above us. We do not abandon the forest for forges. We do not welcome into our kingdom what will hurt us."_

_"Neither does my father love those things. Have you not heard? It was the Noldor who sacked Doriath. The Sindar are vastly different. We hid ourselves from their wars for as long as we could."_

_Adonniel turned from Thranduil. She began folding clothes and placing them on the cot next to where Thranduil lay._

_"Do you come to rule us?" she asked, finally._

_"Only if we may do so peacefully. We do not believe in war between our race nor do we so desire power that we would seize it. If you father will allow, my father will be your King. And if your kindred to the South allow, Amdir will become King of Lórien."_

_There was silence again for a long moment. Then Adonniel asked another question._

_"Do you come to change us?"_

_"No, my Lady, you are perfect the way you are."_

_A bed sheet slipped from Adonniel's fingers. After a deep breath to calm herself, she turned to Thranduil again._

_"I hope Princesses in Beleriand do not swoon at such comments for if they do, you and your elves will be very ineffective and very lonely in Greenwood."_

Thranduil mumbled his response, "A Sindarin Prince."

Adonniel smiled, "Oh! You mean Legolas is not so different from you and your father?"

The elf sighed, resigned to her logic. "In the morning, Legolas and I will talk more about this."


	13. When All Shall Be Decided

**Underneath the Stars**

**Epilogue**

"**When All Shall Be Decided"**

"This is Maeril," Lothiriel said, holding up a leaf, "It is called Ivy in the Common Tongue."

The Gondorian healers leaned in close with wide eyes. Éowyn stood beside the Elven-lady as her assistant. She had already received this lesson in Emyn Arnen many months before. In fact, the two Ladies had gathered the maeril together along with some other herbs.

"It is a deadly poison when given alone, but mixed in the proper way; it cures nearly all variety of pox."

Éowyn hid her smirk as the healers reacted. Seated at a desk in the corner busily recording every word Lothiriel said was the scribe.

"How is it mixed properly?" he called out, not looking up from the parchment.

Without direction, Éowyn handed Lothiriel a small bowl of cold water and the pollen of evermind. The usual herb elves used to remove the toxin from Maeril only grew at very high altitudes in the Misty Mountains. While Lothiriel was at Edoras, however, she had experimented with simbelmynë and found that she liked the flowers very much.

"If you are in the Misty Mountains, laurel is the proper anecdote, but in the South, the pollen of evermind works very nicely. Of course, that is only found in Rohan. The King of the Mark has promised me; however, that he will have the gardeners ship potted flowers to us."

Éowyn crushed the Maeril leaf and mixed it in the bowl of water. Lothiriel smiled at the Lady. It is said that people of Rohan are wise, but unlearned. Lothiriel found that to be true of Éowyn. When Lothiriel point out an herb, demonstrated a routine, or dictated the properties of a salve, Éowyn learned as quickly as any elf in training. She was enthusiastic about and dedicated to everything she did, two things Lothiriel found very appealing about the woman.

After a few more lessons, the healers went back to their duties. New healers would come for another lesson soon. Éowyn and Lothiriel immediately began to reset the table for another demonstration.

"I will go refill the water," Lothiriel said, lifting the empty bowls.

The ladies were instructing the healers in elvish medicine upon the request of Aragorn. He was unsettled that the healers of Gondor had not been prepared to heal the wounded in the War of the Ring. He also wanted to keep Lothiriel busy. No word had come from Legolas since the Fellowship and their friends left Minas Tirith. That was nearly a year and half earlier. The King knew the pain of being separated from a beloved, and he worried for Lothiriel.

She had stayed in Minas Tirith with Arwen until Éowyn and Faramir were married. Then, she had gone to Emyn Arnen shortly after to begin lessons in healing with Éowyn. She enjoyed the forest of South Ithilien. It was similar to Imladris and Mithlond, her two homes. However, there was only so much to teach Éowyn without patients.

When Lothiriel returned to the room, Éowyn was standing over the table filled with roots and herbs talking to a soldier.

"Erion," she smiled, "I am glad to see you. Do you need a course in poisonous flowers?"

The Citadel guard smiled, "No, I think I have sufficiently memorized which flowers are poisonous. I have come for another reason."

Lothiriel sat the bowls of water on the table. "And what purpose is this?"

"There is a special feast tonight. You are both invited, of course," he announced, turning to Éowyn. "Lady Lothiriel, Queen Undómiel has asked that you return to the Citadel at once so that she may inform you of its purpose."

"That is odd. These things are not usually announced so late," Éowyn said, "What is the occasion?"

"I would tell you, Ladies, however I do not know myself. I know only what Queen Undómiel has said, and that is that Lady Lothiriel should return to the Citadel immediately."

Lothiriel cast a glance at Éowyn. The lady waved her off. "We will teach the class some other time. I will go inform the healers."

Lothiriel left with Erion.

"I thought guards of the Citadel cannot leave their post," she commented.

"He can when the Queen orders him so," the man smiled, "She was very excited of this feast, my Lady. I have never seen an elf so emotional."

Lothiriel wondered what the man meant by "emotional." More than likely a sharp gasp or overly exuberant smile. Humans did not catch the subtleties of elven emotion.

As they entered the Citadel, Erion resumed his place at the seventh gate. He nodded a farewell to Lothiriel. The healer walked to her chambers rather slowly. She wondered how long it would take Arwen to meet her in the hallway and scold her for not making haste. She laughed softly at the thought of her friend, the Queen, running through the Citadel corridors to find her.

"What is so funny, my Lady?"

Lothiriel spun around. The shock was evident in her face.

"Legolas!" she cried, running to him.

He caught her in his arms, though she nearly knocked him down anyhow.

"When did you arrive? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I am so happy to see you!"

Legolas laughed, "That is apparent, my dear. I arrived not even an hour ago. I did not send a messenger for I wished to surprise you."

"You did!" she exclaimed.

Legolas touched the jewel lying on her brow. "I wondered if you wore my circlet as I wear your pearls."

She smiled broadly and flung her arms around him again.

"This was the longest year of my immortal life, Legolas! I cannot begin to describe how-"

Before she finished her thought, Legolas had claimed her mouth in a passionate kiss. They pulled away breathless and laughing.

Lothiriel whispered, "I am so happy I do not have to be without you anymore."

Legolas smiled broadly, "Good because you promised to tend the Houses of Healing in my realm."

"Your father has allowed you to establish a realm?"

Legolas nodded, "I have brought my regiment with me. All of them have come, even Belethuil."

The elleth let out a deep breath, "This day could not be made any better."

The wood-elf smiled mischievously, "Oh, I think it can. But you will see what I mean later."

Lothiriel looked at him curiously, but it was obvious he was not going to give in. Finally, she looked away. She nodded to a wooden box carved from beech sitting on the ramparts of the Citadel.

"What is that?"

Legolas retrieved the box and opened it for her. Sitting inside was a circlet identical to the one she wore, but created with much more skill. She lifted it out of the case and inspected it. It was made with mithril and therefore, very light. The emerald seated in the brow was pure and sparkling. An engraving inside the band read "Wrought by Gimli Elf-friend for the Lady Lothiriel."

"Thank you, Legolas. It is beautiful. I have never owned anything dwarven-wrought. Gimli is a superb craftsman."

"Wear it tonight. He will be thrilled."

"So thrilled he will dance with me?"

They laughed happily at the memory of the elf and dwarf dancing together. Legolas held out his hand, to escort her to her chambers.

* * *

Lothiriel sat at her vanity brushing her hair before dinner. She had dressed in her finest gown of contrasting shades of blue with silver embroidery. In Imladris, she had felt a need to wear the colors of autumn, but in Gondor, the atmosphere was right to wear the colors of the sea-elves. She could smell the salt in the air and hear the distant roaring of the sea. Sometimes, even a gull flew inland. Soon, she would be even closer to the sea, in South Ithilien running her very own Houses of Healing in Legolas's realm.

She sighed as she thought of Legolas. A year and a half was not much time to an elf, but she had missed him. They had only just begun to know each other when he had to leave. She hoped their time apart would not injure what small affection they had come to feel for each other. She pulled a scroll out of her jewelry box, and stared at it for a moment. Elrond had given the letter to her the night Legolas told her about South Ithilien. She unrolled it slowly, and reread it.

_My dearest Lothiriel,_

_I wonder how you fare in Rivendell. Are you happy? Does the sea call you through the Bruinen? Do you miss the Havens? My days have grown long and tiresome. I am weary of this world, but I cannot leave yet. I have made a solemn vow to remain until all willing elves have departed Middle-earth. I wonder, my dear, will you return to the Havens? Shall I prepare a ship especially for you? Lord Elrond tells me you have made a vow of your own, to Arwen. I believe that Elladan and Elrohir will also remain until that fateful day when Arwen's choice becomes her doom … or her blessing. I will be waiting here, in the Gray Havens. _

_Do not think, Lothiriel, that Elrond has not informed me of what you've done. I know that you have foolishly ridden off to war. I suppose you know by now that it was a foolish decision. Yet, I fear it may be necessary. A long time ago, Elrond shared with me the reason he taught you his skill in healing. I pray to Ulmo that war is not where you fulfill your destiny. I could not bear that thought._

_I have also been told of the wood-elf you are fond of. I have never known a wood-elf, though I knew very many of them when they were part of the Third Company on the Journey to Valinor. Oropher, I knew and Thranduil also. I image a son of his must be exactly opposite of his father for you to care for him in such a way. Thank Illúvatar. If I image this elf to be opposite of his Sindarin roots, then I can quite image seeing you in Valinor. Perhaps, your wood-elf will come even if he is not called. I pray so, my dear. My life has been long and tiresome enough. I do not think I can add another pain to my soul. I have heard Valinor can cure all hurts, but I have never been there. I do not know for sure. _

_Your parents have already sailed West. They were very happy to leave behind this sorrowful world, but they wished you were on the same ship as they. That you are in the middle of this war frightens them, but they could fight no longer the sounds of the sea. I did not tell them you went to war or that you love a wood-elf. I did not wish to cheat them of hope. _

_My dear granddaughter, marry this wood-elf if you wish. Do not let the prejudices among the elven race hinder you. Marry him and be happy. Your betrothal is in the hands of King Elessar. I have left him instruction on what I wish, and I do not doubt he will carry it out. Do not pout, Lothiriel. I know Estel is younger than you are, and you helped to raise him, but this is how it must be. Your father will begin a new kinslaying in Valinor if I do not make sure this is done properly._

_I will never stop hoping that I will see you on distant shores._

_Círdan_

A knock on her door brought Lothiriel out of her reverie. Arwen was waiting patiently.

"Are you coming?" the Queen asked.

"Of course I am, but I did not know you were my date."

The Queen smiled brightly. "Estel, Legolas, and Faramir had to make some final arrangements so that the justices will be happy that Legolas's realm is legal."

"As if friends need such legal justifications."

Arwen shrugged and held out her hand to Lothiriel. "We are to escort Lady Éowyn also."

The blonde elf looked warily at her friend. "You do not hold at grudge towards her, do you? For she does not hold one against you."

"Does she not?" Arwen asked, surprised.

"Nay. Faramir is everything she has ever wanted. A sweet, quiet, obedient soldier." Arwen could not help but laugh. "If she ever asks you, that was a jest. However, I speak truly, Arwen. Éowyn has no love for Aragorn any longer. Faramir has claimed all the love she has to give, just as you hold all of Estel's love."

"I should not need reassurance on that issue, should I?" Arwen asked, "But never did I have ill feelings towards her."

The Queen and Lady stopped at Éowyn's room. She was waiting for them already, having been told by Faramir they would be by for her. At the side entrance to the Great Hall, they joined Aragorn, Faramir, and Legolas. Estel looked very regal in his winged crown and fine clothing. Lothiriel had seen him look just as regal in Ranger's clothing, however. It was his determined face and kind eyes that made him look kingly.

Aragorn and Arwen remained at the side entrance while the others entered the Hall and took their places at the table. Faramir and Éowyn sat to the right side of the King and Queen's chairs while Legolas and Lothiriel sat to their left. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth and his family, as well as Gimli had already taken their places at the table.

"Good evening, Gimli," Lothiriel smiled.

"Evening, my Lady, it is a pleasure to see you."

"And you as well. I thank you for the circlet you wrought. Your skill was beyond my imagining."

"Good! I am happy you like it," the dwarf replied, looking at Legolas, "Repay me tonight with no dancing."

As the herald stepped into the room, all conversations died.

"It is my honor to announce, her Majesty Queen Undómiel and his Majesty King Elessar!"

All the guests in the Hall stood and bowed as the royal couple passed. They sat again when their King and Queen sat.

"We are gathered here tonight to celebrate a new alliance," Aragorn said, standing once again. "Many are the territories and fiefs of Gondor, but never too many. Friends they are all, and now we add another. The colony of Eryn Silivren."

Lothiriel was suddenly at full attention. She turned to Legolas, surprised. Legolas had not told her what he planned to name the realm. His attention strayed from Aragorn only long enough to see that she was very pleased with the title he had chosen.

"It shall be built among the trees in South Ithilien and be a colony of wood-elves. Faramir, as Prince of that land do you grant to the elves leave to reside among your forest?"

Faramir stood, and addressed the guests, "I do gladly for I am a friend to all who would help restore the beauty of Ithilien."

"Then I give you leave, Legolas Thranduilion, to build a realm, to be a friend and ally to Gondor in times of peace and war for as long as your people remain in Middle-earth."

Legolas stood proudly next to the Aragorn. The two friends clasped each other on the shoulder. Aragorn lifted his cup.

"To friends, to peace, and to Legolas, Prince of Eryn Silivren."

The guests drained their cups, and then the festivities began.

"Nothing like a cup of wine to loosen up the good peoples of Gondor," Lothiriel smiled, "That is a very interesting name for a forest."

Legolas grinned, "Is it not? Would you like to take a walk beneath the stars, my Lady?"

**The End**

* * *

**Eryn Silivren:**Forest of Pearls (Sindarin)

**Author's Note:**

I want to thank everyone for reading (and especially for reviewing). I truly enjoyed all of your comments and suggestions. This story has been hiding on my hard drive for over a year now because I didn't think it was good enough for posting. I'm very, very happy that my readers disagree.

If you're in the mood for something other than a Legomance, check out my fic "The Trees Remember." It's an adventure story set against the backdrop of WWII. Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, and Haldir are sent back to Arda to investigate the mysterious disappearance of the Maiar. Along the way they meet some old friends and discover the fate of Middle-earth and the people who lived there.

Thanks again for reading! Without such a great audience, writing would only be half as fun.

Cheers!

Vana, the Ever-Young


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